Destroyer
by Catsitta
Summary: No one knew from where she came or for which side of the war she fought. All that was known was that she was a witch capable of incredible destruction as well as unfathomable mercy—a fact that sparks an undeniable curiosity into a young Severus Snape and alters both their lives. However, is this change for the better? AU/Time Travel. SSHG. Rating may rise.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing except a laptop the plot. Characters and world belong to J. .

**Destroyer**

**By Catsitta**

.x.

**Prologue;;**

_This was never supposed to happen._

Amongst the ashes of a battle long since passed, a solitary figure stood. One might assume such a person would forlornly gaze upon the ravaged ruins of this war swept place, their heart filled with grief for the dead and sorrow for the broken survivors. However, that is not the case. And the very fact sickened her.

Hermione Granger felt only bitter resignation. Even the deep fury that once drove her onwards had long since been quelled by resentment, survivor's guilt, before fading into nothingness. Terrible, numbing, nothingness.

A heroine, they declared her, but what kind of hero let her friends and family _die_. What kind of hero let said friends and family die more than once? What kind of hero managed to screw up a bad situation and make things worse? Not a hero. Never a hero. A failure. She was a pathetic, hopeless failure. But she had no choice in the matter. Ironies of all ironies, she, the studious third wheel of the remarkable Golden Trio, the so-called brightest witch of her age, was doomed to a life of failure after failure.

Strange, strangled laughter bubbled up into Hermione's throat and she could not contain it. Tired lungs ached as the unfamiliar, eerily inhuman sound escaped, filling the dreadful silence of the post-war world she did not belong in. The laughter soon consumed her and she collapsed onto the scorched earth, her mind tainted with cloudy madness. She could not do this anymore. Every time she meddled, things grew worse or became unrecognizably altered.

There was a reason why time travel, even in theory, was highly discouraged. Because even if one knew the outcome of one timeline, there was no telling how a single action could throw everything off kilter and drive the delicate balance of things at a dangerous slant. And she wanted to stop. God, how she wanted to stop. Too much death. Too much living. No human being was supposed to endure what she was going through.

_But you're not quite human any more, are you Hermione?_ she reminded herself bitterly.

It was then that a glint of something reflective caught the witch's attention and tears flooded her eyes, the last vestiges of laughter smothered by a choked groan. Not again. She could not do this again.

_You have to. There is no giving up. There is only existing until the damn universe decides it's happy and lets you die. _

"No rest for the wicked, is there?" Hermione murmured as she reached out with agonizing slowness to grasp the seemingly harmless device that lay less than a few inches from her nose. After all the death she both caused and witnessed, to admit wickedness felt like an understatement. Grimly, the witch drew the item in her hand close, uncurling skeletal fingers to reveal what they caged beneath.

To the average person, magical or muggle, it appeared to be nothing more than an antique compass. A very finely made compass that was left to suffer century's worth of disrepair and whose creator fancied ancient runes instead of cardinal points. However, to her eyes, at her touch, it was so much more. The worn metal took upon a new shine and the murky face of the compass began to glow with an internal light. The runes began to swirl and hidden gears became very prominent as they shifted and spun.

All Hermione had to do was blow across the face of the compass and the needle floating within it would spin furiously, stealing her away from this place, this time, in a matter of seconds.

Like all things of old magic, it was powerful and it had a price to match.

In her hands was what Hermione liked to call a Time Shifter, an artifact so old and so unpredictable that no history book nor bardic legend spoke of its existence. Unlike its similarly named, and modern, cousin, the Time Turner, the Time Shifter did not turn back time, so to speak. One could not control the number of hours by matter of turns and there was no returning to the moment in which you left. Somehow, some way, it ripped the user from one point in a timeline and dumped he or she unceremoniously into another.

Alternate universes were not as metaphysical as the general population believed.

Not that it was a comfort to the no longer young witch that discovered this fact. She might have been thrilled with the discovery if the Time Shifter did not have its own agenda, of which it was shamelessly manipulating Hermione into serving. For one, the damned thing would not let her die until she served her purpose. Neither age nor injury changed the result. Nor did blatantly mucking up the timeline. The device would always return when it deemed her current adventure an irredeemable failure, and compelled a rather unwilling Hermione to leap into another "universe", the date of her arrival spanning from mere days before the Final Battle against Voldemort to the days before Tom Riddle's birth.

It did not help that the Time Shifter insisted on resetting her body each time as well, returning her to the nineteen year old girl form that she possessed when she'd found and first activated the device.

As old as she felt, looking her age would have been but a small reminder of what she underwent. But no. Every failure was punctuated by that scarred up, malnourished, undeniably young body with frizzy brown hair and experience-filled, but otherwise unremarkable brown eyes, she would have to see in the mirror.

Until she fixed things. Until those that died were given a chance at life. Until the greatest evil the wizarding world had ever known fell and his successors vanquished…

Hermione Granger would endure.

Her very soul was at stake.

Thus she softly blew across the surface of the compass and closed her eyes, attempting to forget Harry Potter's mangled corpse and Ron's last words. This was only one possible outcome, with which the universe seemed to disagree. No doubt there would be more deaths to lay heavily on her heart. More failures.

All delusions of normality were but wistful memories. There would be no falling in love, no children, no peacetime world in which nurture her new love of quiet. She was to be the chosen warrior…the hero.

Everyone knows there is no happy ending for a hero.

**TBC?**

**A/N: This is my first Harry Potter fanfic, but any of my FF7 readers whom give this a glance will recognize the fact that I'm playing with a few themes that I love more than anything else. Time travel and the broken hero in need of healing. I will admit, my understanding of HP lore is a bit rusty, so corrections and suggestions are always welcome. **

**But I will say this: The Deathly Hallows utterly bewildered me. Themes were introduced that did not belong, the writing seemed forced in places, especially near the end and the epilogue was utterly…disappointing. J. is a remarkable author, but the way HP ended was confusing in its abruptness. **

**That, and I do not believe that Ron and Hermione ever made sense as a couple.**

**However, despite my meddling and my plot, and the liberties I'm taking with J.K.R's world, I do recognize cannon, including DH, save for the dreadful Epilogue.**

**Thank you for your reading the beginnings of this story as well as this overly long author's note. **


	2. Chapter One

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing except a laptop the plot. Characters and world belong to J. K. Rowling.

**Destroyer**

**By Catsitta**

**Chapter One;; **

He found her at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, unconscious.

Paranoid by nature, Professor Severus Snape regarded the sleeping girl with suspicion. Never before had he seen her face and she appeared quite young, student age. She most certainly did not attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, thus had no business on school grounds.

A matter for the Headmaster to resolve.

Drawing an elegant, ebony wand from its concealed sheath beneath the billowing folds of his sleeve, Severus prepared to awaken the dozing damsel. However, before _Rennervate_ could pass between his lips, eyes like that of a wild beast snapped open and the young wizard found himself propelled through the air in a matter of a heartbeat, slamming into the ground nearly two meters away. Feeling as if someone had stolen away every ounce of air from his lung, Severus gasped, struggling to regain his breath.

A split second later the girl was hovering above him, her pupils dilated dangerously, her gaze a paradox, both penetrating as well as drugged. It was the stare he'd only seen previously worn by former inmates of Azkaban. Merlin! She was insane. And apparently capable of wandless magic. Wonderful…

"Stay back," Severus growled as menacingly as he could manage. It was a snarl many years in the making. When the girl merely tilted her head to the side, the wizard lifted his wand…or would have, if it were still in his possession. He stiffened in surprise. Where was his wand? Had he dropped it when he hit the ground? As if sensing his panic, the girl smirked, the expression curling artfully.

"Looking for this, Professor?" she asked softly. Betwixt the fingers of her right hand was his wand.

"_Accio—_!"

"—_Silencio." _

Severus, caught mid spell, slapped a hand to his throat as his voice was stolen away. It was at this point he felt a prickle of anxiety—he refused to name it as fear. This wisp of a girl effectively disabled and disarmed him with little more than a glance and a whisper. Who was she? Had someone hired her as an assassin to dispose of him? Did a Deatheater catch wind of his double agent status for the Light? What a terrible spy he made if he had been discovered so soon in his ruse. But if that were so, the Dark Lord would wish of him his presence so that he could torture Severus for his betrayal. Something was not quite adding up…

"You should not underestimate your opponent, Professor."

It was not as if he _knew_ she were an opponent whilst she was _unconscious_ on the ground.

"Remember, _Constant Vigilance_!" the smirk she wore faded away as Severus flinched. This insolent girl was mocking him, using the very words of a warrior of the light, Alastor Moody. Whoever wanted him dead definitely knew of his connection to the illustrious Order of the Phoenix—no matter how reluctant said connection was made. Gods be damned, could he not get a moment in his life where things went right and he did not have to worry about death stalking him? "Do stop grinding your teeth, Professor, it's not healthy."

Voicelessly, Severus cursed the chit. He dared not do more given his wandless status and his previous experience with…less than stable individuals. One did not move too quickly lest they wanted their head blown off. He had a feeling that attempting to stand would garner a similar result.

"I expected more out of you, Professor. Lying there like a helpless animal is hardly your style. Where's your…fire?" A stiff gust of wind tugged at their robes and hair, emphasizing the frizzy wildness of his attacker's mane. Paired with those lifeless eyes and haggard form, she appeared all the more predatory, like a lioness desperate with hunger. It was in this moment that Severus' survival instinct began to struggle against his common sense. He needed onto his feet. Even without his wand, he could overpower the girl, after all, he had sheer mass on his side.

Slowly, he shifted his weight, leveling his gaze with the girl's. When she next opened her mouth to speak, Severus launched himself up and forwards in an impressive display of dexterity…only to find himself floundering for his footing as his target stepped aside. Bollocks! He was twenty for Merlin's sake. It would be nice to develop a sense of balance sometime soon…such as—yesterday!

Righting himself quickly, the young wizard turned to face his opponent, only to find her…missing.

"Much better."

Severus spun around. Then, just as he caught a glimpse of that ungodly hair, he found his entire world turned upside down. Literally. Dangling from one foot in the air was an experience he'd never cared to repeat, given how humiliating it was the first time around. As he fought with his robes with one hand, and wiped long, black locks from his face with the other, Severus began to swear. He was a powerful Occlumens, a trusted spy for both the Dark Lord and Dumbledore, and a powerful wizard in his own right—yet this teenaged girl had pounced upon and disarmed him, as well as humiliated him, in the span of a minute.

Apparently, this assassin, for whomever she sided with, liked to play with her prey.

However, of all the things to consider while in this situation, the fact that the girl had not utter a word nor made a single twitch of the wrist to cast her spells, was what popped into his head first. Wandless, wordless magic. Innately, every magical persons can access magic without a wand. It is child magic, youthful and uncontrolled and potentially harmful to everyone and everything in near proximity. Rarely did older witches and wizards learn to harness their magic without a wand, for it acted as a conduit, focusing the will of the caster into spells. It was simply easier to use a wand.

Yet here she was, no wand in sight, tossing him about like a toy.

"You look…confused, Professor. Not frightened. Nor angry. But confused. Attempting to figure out why I haven't killed you yet, I assume?" Severus stiffened, his obsidian gaze widening a fraction of a degree. "Do not worry, Professor—" was it just him or was her tone of speech becoming more patronizing by the second? "—I have no intention of ending your life. Nor even harming a single hair on that greasy head of yours. _Finite Incantum_." He fell heavily to the ground, wincing as his shoulder took the brunt of the impact. "No. I have other business to attend to, and none of it includes murdering a school teacher."

Severus watched as she fiddled with the ebony in her hands for a brief moment, caressing the wood with an affectionate distance in her eyes, as if it were an infant instead of a wand. A sharp flick of her wrist sent it skittering to where he crouched, already recovering from his impromptu fall. Surprised struck him. Why? The wizard frowned darkly.

"Who are you?"

"Hm. Me? Nobody. Ah-ah, do take care not to point that at me, Professor. I do believe the Headmaster would like his new Potions Master to return to the castle in one piece."

A moment of hesitation was quickly followed by Severus snapping,"_Legilimens_!"

He expected the usual surge of memories that accompanied the magical invasion of the mind. Instead, he hit the mental equivalent of a brick wall and was promptly thrust back into his own head as a result. Migraines were never pleasant. This one felt as if it were going to cause his head to implode. Severus could not help but groan in pain as he grasped at any idea that might help him regain an ounce of control in this confrontation.

"That was quite impolite, Professor. Now, if you are done being foolish, I have business to attend."

With that, the girl swept past him without a second glance, disappearing with a near silent CRACK as she disapperated.

Blinking furiously, Severus could only wonder what in Merlin's name just happened. And after a second of consideration, he decided that he would report to Dumbledore of this event _after _he felt less like a herd of Hippogriffs had decided to trample over his skull.

Good thing it was a Saturday…he was in no condition to deal with the intolerable idiocy of the numbskulls he had to teach…on the Dark Lords damnable orders no less. Small blessings. In his few short years, he'd seen far too few of them.

**Tbc?**

**A/N:**

**I'm having fun with the plotline I'm cooking up. Let it be said that Hermione isn't going to be all butterflies and buttercups in this story. She's lived a long time and is quite jaded by her experiences, especially since she has no choice but to intervene in the timeline, for worse or for better. **

**I will also establish the timeframe of this story a little better as it goes along. **

**And yes, small chapters. I'm getting back in the swing of writing for myself again after a couple months hiatus due to school and other matters. **

**Finally, many thanks to my reviewers! Feedback, criticism and suggestions are always welcome and appreciated. **


	3. Chapter Two

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing except a laptop the plot. Characters and world belong to J. K. Rowling.

**Destroyer**

**By Catsitta**

**Chapter Two;;**

If there was anything that Hermione had learned during her many excursions into the past, is that certain events are preordained and that to remove one evil, was to open up a potential rift for a greater one to fill. This was why, when she opened her eyes to find herself face-to-face with a school age Severus Snape, she did not immediately dash off in a Gryffindor manner to rid the world of the Dark Lord. The last time she intervened in the deaths of Lily and James Potter and prevented the creation of the final Horcrux, Voldemort proceeded to overtake the wizarding world whilst in a state of utter madness.

Young Harry did not live to see his third birthday.

He was but one of thousands to fall at the ruthless hands of the megalomaniac, who, after "purging" Britain of its impurities, turned his sights on his followers. The Purebloods learned that they bled red, same as a muggle-born.

But it was far from surprising, Voldemort's descent into utter insanity. His soul was in shreds, and the rotted remnants he still possessed within him were hardly enough to preserve any level of lucidity. Few knew the mind-distorting agony of a soul in pieces. Hermione did. She understood all too well how a broken soul could drive one to the brink—what one does once there, however, is up to what remains of the conscious mind. One could choose to continue corroding it, as Voldemort did with his slayings, or one could heal it, through love and patience. Time truly did heal all wounds, even those unseen, but despite having all the time in the world, the witch had found healing most difficult.

She did not have time to fall in love. To raise a family would be a burden and an invitation for further heartbreak when the Time Shifter tore her away from a timeline due to her failures. Any attachments at all were pointless, because involving herself almost always ended in her friends' demise. After a while, she gave up on all attempts to soothe her secret hurts, the agony she felt each time a death rent deep into her soul. And soon after that was when she grew numb, indifferent to her quest. What was the point? They were all going to die anyway.

Was it too much to ask for a break from the sorrow? Was it too much to ask to have a chance at happiness?

Then again, what would anyone do if Hermione decided to give up? Killing herself was not an option, but allowing things to run its course without meddling and living her life as a hermit somewhere was quickly becoming an appealing prospect. Unfortunately…deep down, she knew even that was not possible. Her infernal, interfering instincts demanded that she do something to change the course of events so that, when Voldemort fell, he stayed fallen.

Thus was the reason why she apparated to Malfoy Mannor.

She had a diary to destroy.

.x.

Severus clutched his forearm, grinding his teeth against the onslaught of pain. The entire limb felt as if it were about to burn off. Something was wrong. The Dark Lord rarely made his summons more than a subtle ache unless he was in a particularly foul mood. Anxiety filled him ever so briefly as he considered his meeting with the girl earlier that day. She knew his involvement with the Order. Perhaps his suspicions that she knew of his double agent status were well founded.

Voldemort was possibly calling Severus to his execution.

Breathing in deeply to steady his nerves and reassemble his Occulemency barriers, the young Professor braced himself to face the Dark Lord. It was the dead of night. No one would see him as he abandoned his patrols of the halls and stalked his way to the front gates, past the anti-apparation wards. But, distantly, he wished that the seemingly omniscient Dumbledore would cross paths with him, if only so that Severus could say his goodbyes and good riddance. Snarling at the old man would be appropriate, given that it was the Headmaster's fault he was in this situation, facing the Dark Lord each time he summoned, but a sacrificial lamb in his camp should he be discovered of treachery.

As a particularly raw slash of agony ripped through the dark mark, the Potions Master stumbled, biting back a groan. He had to hurry. Even if it was his execution he was preparing to face, there was no excuse to be late.

None too soon, Severus reached the boundaries of the wards. Pressing his fingers against the tattoo that marred his ghostly pallor, he disapparated, answering the summons of his dark master.

After a brief and jarring sensation of being squeezed through a tube, he found himself standing on the lawn of a familiar haunting ground of the Dark Lord. Malfoy Manner. Quickly, the wizard strode towards the doors of the opulent mansion, noting at the corner of his eyes the hunched forms of his fellow Death Eaters as they too hurried within. Inconspicuously, Severus tugged at the hood of his cloak and the edge of his mask before palming his wand with a sweat slick hand.

It felt as if he was a mouse entering the serpent's den. Not good. And just when he was growing confident that he was in Voldemort's good graces and close to securing a position in the elusive inner circle.

Passing blindly through the doors of the manner, Severus expected the worst.

What he saw, however, was beyond what could be expected.

Lucius Malfoy, Lord of the estate, laid in a mangled heap on the floor. His clothes were in bloodied shreds, a state reminiscent of a victim repeatedly assailed by a _Sectumsempra_ curse, and his limbs were bound with thick cords of rope. Beside the typically pristine wizard knelt his distraught wife, Narcissa, whose perfectly coifed, platinum blonde hair was stained with spatters of crimson. As were her manicured hands and sheer sleeping gown.

Around the pair, the Death Eaters gathered, no one drawing close despite the pleading eyes of the distressed witch. The word "please" formed on too-pale lips, but no sound escaped her shivering body. She knew better. As an unmarked wife of a Death Eater, Narcissa was practically invisible, powerless to force action in the men surrounding her. Her gaze quickly tore away from the wizards to sweep over her husband's slack features.

In one hand she held her wand, but her exhaustion was evident. A few meager incantations passed between her lips, doing little more than keeping Lucius' many wounds staunched. The woman's magic never did work well under pressure and it was evident for all to see.

"My children, you see before you my reason for your summons."

Severus glanced up towards where the deep, sultry voice emanated. Standing in a nearby doorway, framed by the rich, dark wood of the manor, was Lord Voldemort. Like every other person in the room, Severus knelt, catching a mere glimpse of the handsome figure that cloaked a soul distorted with warped ideology. A cold smile was fixed upon the Dark Lord's lips and his eyes were like chips of ice. Arm still aching with the summons, he reminded himself that, despite Voldemort's cool demeanor, the wizard was infuriated.

"Your brother has been attacked and left for dead. One might suspect this to be the dealings of one of our own…unless the Light has grown more ruthless." The Dark Lord paused for a moment, before continuing, disdain writ in every word he spoke. "But who amongst us would want to make a statement such as this? Who amongst us would purposefully maim one of the inner circle? Who? Ah, but that is the question."

"M-my Lord…please…my h-husband."

Severus drew in a sharp breath. Foolish woman. The Malfoy's were his friends. Their dying would be a heavy casualty to bear. Listening to his heart pound in his ears, he waited for the inevitable…but no screams of agony ensued.

"Your husband deserves his suffering for allowing his guard to falter."

"Ye-yes, my Lord."

"Good girl," drawled the Dark Lord in a patronizing tone. He then returned his attention to his followers, "Rise my children. I know all of you are wondering who the traitor amongst you is? Should I inquire to who's at fault, each would point at a man other than himself. Fortunately, I will not ask such a foolish question. I know who struck down your brother!"

From his robes, Voldemort freed a crumbled strip of parchment and dropped it the feet of Lucius Malfoy, his cold eyes sudden burning like molten lava.

"The one whom fell him was—"

"—me."

All eyes went wide at the sound of a new voice, one completely unfamiliar their ears. At least, to the ears of everyone but Severus Snape. Startled, he riveted his gaze towards the open entrance of Malfoy Mannor to see the slim teen clad in billowing robes of black, the hood shrouding her gaunt, but youthful visage.

Severus did not know who threw the first hex, but within the span of a heartbeat, all hell broke loose.

**TBC?**

**A/N:**

**This story should move along at a nice clip. I'm not planning on dragging this out forever. So expect lots of action…at least for now. The romance will come into play soon enough.**

**I would also like to thank all my lovely reviewers! Suggestions, comments, and even freshly-baked e-cookies are welcome. Thanks for reading!**


	4. Chapter Three

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing except a laptop and the plot. Characters and world belong to J. K. Rowling.

**Destroyer**

**By Catsitta**

**Chapter three;;**

_Invigorating_.

The feel of each spell leaving her wand. The sight of the Death Eaters scattering. The sound of screaming, both fearful and malicious.

Hermione danced a wicked dance amongst the warriors of the Dark, dodging hexes and curses with practiced ease. In her youth, dueling was where she was weakest. Each time wands were crossed, the young witch was caught in the middle, usually left maimed or unconscious before the real fight began. Brave but bookish, Hermione's younger self was far more suited to being the brains of the Golden Trio, and it became glaringly obvious as the war drew on.

However, those years were long gone.

Still ever the know-it-all who thrived off of knowledge and drank in the written word like a dying man in the desert upon finding water, Hermione accumulated and hoarded away a vast swath of factual information. One might think her brain fit to burst for all that she attempted to stuff within it. But she learned early on in her quest for the Time Shifter that experience was the most valuable of knowledge to be gained. And experience she did have.

Experience in fighting. Experience in researching. Experience in the costs of war.

She learned to brew potions from ancient texts. She invented spells to better her chances against the enemy. She discovered what happened when you interfered with keystone events that should never be altered. She lived. She learned. She lost.

In her foolish youth, Hermione might have been overjoyed to imagine a day where she could proclaim herself so undeniably learned. A true know-it-all. But ignorance was bliss. A virtue she lost along with all semblance of happiness many years ago.

But the witch could not refute the thrill she felt. It was not quite happiness, but it was feeling. Emotion. A sickly sweet relief from the numbness and indifference that cocooned her wizened heart.

A strange, dangerous smile twisted its way upon her lips as she weaved between the wizards that sought to end her life. Flashes of red and green lit her vision, making her think idly of Christmas and drawing a bubble of laughter into the hollow of her throat. Playing chicken with death had long since become her favorite game, as immortals oft tend to court the very thing that made them different than the common folk.

Perhaps if one of them hit her with the Killing Curse she would at least find her peace.

Perhaps that was too much to ask…

She ducked beneath a flash of light and cast her gaze in the direction of its source.

It was then that Hermione's eyes met those of fathomless obsidian.

The witch smirked, "Hello Professor."

Severus Snape quivered in matter akin to disbelief. A mask may shield his face from view and the cloak may enshroud his body, but there was no Death Eater anonymity when it came to that gaze that reflected the depths of the darkest abyss. It was a gaze that reflected no light, no emotion...

Recovering from whatever shock her statement caused, the wizard widened his stance and stared her down. From what Hermione remembered of his dueling tendencies from her youth, Snape preferred to remain steadfast, allowing his opponent to exhaust themselves before striking the first, final and fatal blow. This Snape, despite being inexperienced and impulsive, watched her with the same intensity of a coiled snake, very reminiscent of the older man she knew.

"Who are you," he growled.

Hermione ducked another hex, countered with her own, before returning her sights to the Potions Master before her. She noted, that in the confusion, the Death Eaters were attacking each other more often than not. Confounding people had its uses when it came to causing mass hysteria.

"No one special," Hermione told him as she flicked her wand in a complex pattern, causing runes to light up beneath her feet before radiating outwards into a neat circle and disappearing. Confident that her protection wards would hold, the witch allowed herself to admire her handiwork. The Death Eaters were scrambling about like frightened mice. The Dark Lord was nowhere in sight. And the Malfoy's were huddled on the ground nearby, Narcissa just as wan as her pallid husband. Her eyes, wide with fright, flicked constantly from the wizard lying prone at her knees to the ceiling above her.

Draco could not be more than a few months old at this time.

Turning away from Severus, savoring the way stray hexes bounced off her shield, Hermione put her focus on the Malfoys. Lucius had served his purpose as bait and she'd caused a little dissention and chaos, it was time to end things. She lifted her wand—

"Stop! Don't hurt them."

It was Snape.

Hermione ignored his protests and the ensuing flashes of light as the young Professor barraged her shields with spell after spell, desperate to break through. She observed the young couple on the floor for a long moment, drinking in the sight of the self-serving, Pureblood supremacists looking vulnerable and all-too-human. Then she flicked her wrist.

"NO!"

The young Professor scrambled between her and the Malfoy's, clearly attempting to protect what remained of his precious few friends. His veneer as heartless Death Eater and menacing Professor shattered as a lonely young man took their place. Hermione knew it had to be difficult serving two masters, walking that fine line between the Light and Dark, forced to wear many masks just to survive each day. But in the end, at the heart of things, the spy was just as human as anyone else. He had friends, he felt love, he had his pride and lived by a stringent code of honor.

It was time and experience that would leave him unyielding and cynical, too broken to be shattered any further. Just like Hermione, he would learn that bitterness was all that came to those whose duty was to fight for the better good. He would lose what remained of his fleeting innocence and fall into a state of despair—all too willing to die in the end.

She shook her head sadly. He was but one of many she had constantly failed to save.

"If I wished them ill, do you honestly think you could stop me, Professor?"

Snape's threatening posture remained, his wand clenched in a white-knuckled grip.

"You did this to him," he snarled. Lucius' condition thickly implied in his tone.

"He deserved it," Hermione replied lightly. There was a deeply seeded, simmering hatred for a few certain individuals within her heart, and Lucius was one. "He's a Death Eater."

"If that is your reasoning, then why did you not strike me down when…" he trailed off, eyes flicking to the disarray around them. Apparently he was confused to how Hermione had caused these men to tear each other apart like hounds instead of surrounding her in a united effort to destroy her shield. Clearly there was magic at play but obviously not the kind that the Light would approve of in their better-than-thou art holiness.

Dark Magic no longer frightened Hermione. It had its uses in situations such as these.

"Because, Professor," Hermione intoned, "you're…special."

Again, she flicked her wand, and this time, she completed her spell from afore. Snape tensed and Narcissa clenched her eyes shut, both preparing for the worst. However, no terrible curse lit the room to steal away their lives. Instead, a thick shimmer of green burst from the tip of her wand and settled like a mist over them.

She watched with mild interest as the witch and wizard joined Lucius in the realm of dreams.

Then, she returned her attention to the Death Eaters she had cursed into confusion.

.x.

Severus struggled to retain consciousness, but the strange girl's magic sank its claws into him and with tempting gentleness, lured him into the cradle of sleep. As his eyelids grew heavy, his limbs like blocks of lead, he could no longer remain upright. Collapsing, he drifted deeper and deeper away from the waking world.

His last glimpse of Malfoy Manor before all went dark was filled with the image of the girl sweeping away, her cloak swirling ethereally about her slender form. The very air about her crackled with magic. What had she meant about him being special? Shouldn't she condemn him for the same reasons she struck down Lucius?

His thoughts slowed until they were at a beguiling crawl.

Idly, Severus wondered who would survive this night. Some niggling instinct insisted that death loomed heavily above them all. But thoughts of death, doom and destruction all dissipated in a luxurious cloud of nothingness as the spell induced slumber consumed him.

.x.

Light.

It was the first thing Severus was aware of when he opened his eyes.

Soft, filtered light haloed him, offering its meager warmth as it announced the rise of a new day. But why was it so bright? His bedroom in the dungeons was kept dim, the curtains heavy and tied shut, because he found it a struggle to rest when not in complete darkness. He groaned, throwing one arm over his face. Why did his back ache and his head throb? Did the Dark Lord amuse himself through torturing him last night as the man was wont to do? But this pain did not feel like the after effects of _Crutacious_. Rather, if felt as if he slept on the floor instead of his nice, soft bed.

Severus opened one eye.

He had slept on the floor.

Wait. This wasn't even his floor!

Jackknifing up at the realization, the Professor quickly took in his surroundings, memories of the previous night flooding him. What he saw made his stomach churn.

Blood. So much blood.

Countless bodies littered the floor, though whether they were dead or merely unconscious was difficult to surmise. Severus shifted his weight, one hand sliding back an inch as he did so. The wizard froze when his fingertips brushed a stain of something dry and sticky. He glanced down at the darkly crimson puddle and followed it to its source.

Lucius, his clothes in tatters, lay still, his wife huddled protectively over his inert form.

Panicking, Severus leapt towards his friends and checked for a pulse. Relief crashed through him like a wave when both bodies proved warm and their heartbeats steady. Though, Lucius had a bloodless look about him that hinted at his fragile state. Scanning the room to assure himself that Lord Voldemort was nowhere to be seen, the young wizard unbuttoned his cloak, revealing the white shirt beneath, and draped it over the pale couple, his mind awhirl with what needed to be done.

Upstairs, he heard the faint cry of an infant.

**TBC?**

**A/N:**

**Thanks to all who have reviewed. It's nice to know people are enjoying my little story. I'm happy to answer questions and the like and am always open to ideas, suggestions and other commentary. **

**I've also noticed that my disclaimer heading keeps being eaten by the site for some strange reason…I keep tweaking it and chunks of it keep disappearing. The formatting looks fine when I submit it…**

**Anywho~**

**Chapters slowly getting longer.**


	5. Chapter Four

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing except a laptop and the plot. Characters and world belong to J. K. Rowling.

**Destroyer**

**By Catsitta**

**Chapter four;;**

Albus Dumbledore gazed down upon his youngest Professor through the wire-rimmed glasses perched low upon his nose. Severus was twitching nervously, in a manner akin to his student days, his eyes darting about as if expecting to be pounced upon by an unseen assailant. Within a minute of silence, Severus went from sitting before him like a disobedient child, to pacing, his hair a curtain against the Headmaster's inquisitive gaze.

The buttons of the Potion Master's frock coat were clearly askew, Dumbledore observed silently. And the billowing cloak that the young man was taken with wearing was abandoned elsewhere. He wondered what happened to shatter the composure of the Order's spy. Before him was not the caustically confident Professor that reigned life with an iron tight fist; instead, there was a child, shaken and confused, trembling with anxiety.

"Severus, my boy." Dumbledore began.

Severus flinched, his attention suddenly focused on his shirt cuffs.

"It is not healthy for you to keep silent when you're clearly in distress," the Headmaster urged, but Severus' jaw merely tightened. "What happened, my boy? You were gone for nearly two days, then you return to me in such a state. Were you tortured? Does he know of your role with the Light?"

He saw it; a spark of anger lit in those vacant eyes.

Whipping around like a trapped animal that had been prodded too many times, Severus threw the full force of his gaze at Dumbledore, snarling menacingly.

"The Dark Lord knows nothing of my treachery," he gritted out. "Your precious spy still remains in his favor." Severus looked ready to attack, his every muscle tense. Had the young man entered his office ranting and raving, full of accusations towards the Headmaster, Dumbledore would understand. Had he begun throwing things or blasting apart well-meaning inanimate objects, he would understand. Severus had a hot temper that burned furious and strong, and often drove him to physical displays of frustration. He did not talk about his issues. He simmered and stewed, brooded and bottled up every emotion, and like a delicate potion, exploded at the slight provocation when he reached the limits of restraint.

Given his circumstances, it was no wonder Severus edged towards being thoroughly unpleasant on the best of days and lethally dangerous on his worst. This war needed to end soon, otherwise, Dumbledore feared, he would lose this young man. He had already failed him in so many ways. But to lose him would be the most devastating of failures—something that needed avoiding at all costs, Severus was simply too valuable to the Light.

"Then what is the matter?" he queried gently.

"There was an attack on Malfoy Manor."

"When?"

"At the meeting," Severus took in a deep breath, forcibly relaxing his taut frame. "The Dark Lord called a vast majority of his Death Eaters to the manor to report an attack on one of the inner circle. Lucius. He seemed to believe one of his men was at fault for Malfoy's condition; after all, the curse used on him is not common knowledge. Before he could announce the perpetrator, a witch appeared and claimed to be at fault."

Dumbledore nodded, a pale hand stroking the length of his snowy beard absently. Someone had interrupted the meeting. Likely an Auror or vigilante with a hatred of Voldemort strong enough to drive her to desperation.

"She should have fallen the moment she spoke. Instead, the witch walked through the midst of the Death Eaters as if she were taking a Sunday morning stroll in the gardens." That piqued the wizened Headmaster's attention. "I do not know what happened, entirely, but I do know that I should be dead. The girl has no qualms against killing from what I observed and believes that murder is a suitable means of disposing of Death eaters. Except, instead of maiming as she did Lucius, she rendered me unconscious for most of the battle."

"I see, and this fact is what has you—"

"—no." Severus cut in abruptly. "What…unsettles me is not the fact that the witch attacked a meeting, maimed one of the inner circle and cut down a slew of powerful Purebloods with disturbing proficiency…It is the fact that I….I saw her earlier that day. Late Friday afternoon, I was patrolling the grounds, considering hunting for ingredients in the forest, and I found her sleeping under a tree. She appeared to be a student initially, but I realized that I did not recognize her. I wished to only wake the girl and bring her to your office to be questioned about her trespassing…but…"

How strange. Severus was struggling with his words, as if revealing what he knew of the witch was highly uncomfortable. Though, if she appeared to be student age, then how was it possible for her to have survived an attack on the Dark Lord and his followers?

"She awoke, Albus, and attacked."

"Why did you not report this incident, Severus?" Dumbledore found his voice hardening.

"I was planning on doing so." Severus said with a pause of reluctance. "At a later date."

"What happened?" It was a question that needed repeating.

"It would be easier to show you."

An hour and a pensive full of memories later, the two men sat in troubled silence together.

.x.

Idly, Hermione rolled a vial of basilisk venom in her palm. Already, it was half empty from her efforts to destroy Time Riddle's Diary and it had been all she could find. She knew that there was a live basilisk living in the Chamber of Secrets, but Parseltongue was a language that even the most studious of scholars could not learn. It was an inherited, innate talent. That, and battling a giant snake in order to rip out a fang or collect venom, did not appeal to her.

There were curses that could destroy a Horcrux, but she knew that using them would place her fragile soul in a precarious position. No need to speed up her insanity, not when she was standing at the edge already.

But that meant obtaining more venom. A rare, dangerous and expensive ingredient that was highly regulated. Hermione pursed her lips in consideration. Then a smile curled on her lips. She knew exactly how to obtain more venom. And she also knew where the next Horcrux lay hidden.

Sweeping her eyes over the sprawling nothingness of the Scottish highlands one last time, Hermione disapperated.

.x.

The next few weeks passed at a crawl.

Severus was called almost daily by the Dark Lord, and it was becoming very obvious that the man was losing all remnants of sanity. No longer did he charm and persuade his followers, punishing only when displeased. Instead, he maliciously attacked nearly every Death Eater that remained in his council, and left Severus at the brink of death twice. His crime? Being unable to report about the location of the mysterious witch who dared defied his rule.

After a while, Severus was ready to curse his practically inhuman ability to survive his Dark master's brutality.

Teaching became unbearable and soon the students that once sniggered at the unpopular student turned Professor became utterly terrified of the Potions Master. He roared orders as he stormed into the classroom, door slamming behind him, cloak snapping threateningly at his heels. His worsening complexion only made him more loathsome. Before, he was simply pale and plain, a touch too skinny, with a beaky nose, crooked teeth and greasy hair from standing over cauldrons all day. Now his skin was sallow, dark bruises like stains beneath bloodshot eyes. Clothes hung loose on his thinning frame. And rarely did he manage to go more than a day or two without a hitch to his step, either from physical injury or the after effects of _Crutacius_.

The other staff was even subdued in his presence, when he deigned to appear at meal times at the High Table.

Minerva only once made the mistake of cornering him, and the resulting squabble was still being murmured about on student lips.

Merlin! All Severus wanted to do was down a bottle of Firewhisky and promptly pass out on the floor. It would be the best night of sleep he'd had in a long time if he did. But that was impossible. He had to keep his head clear and be ready to be called upon at a moment's notice…

…He stiffened in the midst of his living quarters.

The wards on his private storeroom had been breached.

Whichever insolent brat decided to make that mistake would soon regret stealing from him.

.x.

Stealthily, Severus crept through the dark potions classroom to where a cabinet laid ajar, a robed figure rummaging through the contents indiscriminately. He would deduct more points from the house this brat belonged to than any Professor had ever before. He would get them expelled for theft. He would…

…the figure withdrew, a small flask in hand.

_"Incarcerous!_"

Ropes shot forth from the tip of Severus' wand, binding the thief in an instant. They struggled briefly against the bonds, somehow managing to keep their balance as well as their grip on the flask. Then the thief grew still.

"_Lumos!_"

Light appeared at the end of his wand, which he quickly thrust towards the figure with an evil grin. However, the expression faltered, turning into one of sheer horror. There, standing with his wand at her throat, was that bushy-haired menace that riled the Dark Lord even more than the infernal prophecy about his downfall. Despite her incapacitated state, she had the gall to smile at him.

"Hello again, Professor."

"How did YOU get in here?" he whispered, his blinding fury having been drenched. "Why are you here?" Why was he still asking questions? Voldemort wanted her dead. Dumbledore wanted her "observed". And she wanted Death Eaters dead, had nearly killed his best friend and was the reason for his current condition. The grip on his wand became bloodless. The urge to cut her throat suddenly quite strong. It would be so easy too…

The witch shrugged,"I needed something."

Severus dropped his gaze to what she held in her hand,"Basilisk venom." Was she planning on continuing her assassination attempts?

"Now, if you would, untie me. I have things to do, places to be, people to meet."

He growled, stepping even closer and allowing for the end of his wand to dig into the flesh of her throat. But still, the girl looked unimpressed.

"Stop snarling at me, you're scaring no one." She drawled. "If you're going to kill me, do it sometime soon. I'd rather not be here all night having a staring contest with you."

"How. Did. You. Get. In. Here?" Severus enunciated each world so that there was no mistaking his meaning.

The girl rolled her eyes and continued to watched him with a bored smile,"Simple. I walked. How else would I have gotten in here? The wards prevent apparition within the castle, and to a certain extent, the grounds."

"You're a trespasser. You should not even be able to enter the building."

"Hogwarts and I have a bit of an agreement," she replied lightly, in a tone that bespoke of deeper complexities. "Given that I mean no harm to any student or staff member in residence here, the castle has seen fit to allow me entrance. It took me a while to figure out how not to trip the detection wards that would alert the Headmaster of my presence; otherwise I would have been here sooner."

Yet she had tripped the simple ward on his storage cabinet. Had she done so on purpose?

"I can see you thinking, Professor."

"Silence!" Severus hissed.

"Hm. I do not believe I will. I'm your captive audience, thus you have inflicted my opinionated self on yourself. Congratulations. Don't you feel special?"

Her smile turned into a feral grin, one that dared him to do something he would very much regret. How tempting it would be to end the life of the chit who humiliated him and made his miserable existence even more unbearable. A chaotic darkness swirled within him, clawing against his Occlumency shields, begging for freedom. The Dark within him relished in bloodshed and revenge. But the Light rebelled, reminding of his promises. Of what drove him to keep fighting this war.

Lily came to mind, an image he tried not to dwell upon too often. He was fighting to keep her safe, even if Potter undeservedly had her heart in his hand. She would never love him, but it was his love for her that drove him onwards when the days were the darkest. His absolution would be found in saving her and her family from dying at Voldemort's hands. If he could accomplish that much, he could find the peace to forgive himself for their lost friendship.

Breathing in deeply, slowly, Severus steeled himself.

He reached down to take the flask away from the girl, but her grip tightened.

"Ah-ah. I need it."

If he knocked her unconscious, the flask would undoubtedly shatter and spray both of them with the contents.

"_Accio_!" he commanded, flicking his wand at the flask. Her grip faltered and despite her efforts, slipped free of her grasp. As Severus caught it, he noted a change in the girl's expression.

"I need that venom."

The spy within him reminded Severus that the girl was opening herself up for interrogation. If only he were able to access his secret supply of truth serums.

"Why?"

She countered with a question of her own,"Do you wish to see this war end, Professor?"

The word "yes" escaped before he could restrain it. The witch's gaze was distant as she regarded him quietly.

"Then give me the venom."

"I cannot do that." He lifted his wand, ready to disable her and take her to Dumbledore for detainment.

"And I cannot allow you to stand in my way," was her ominous reply. "You're making it very difficult not to hurt you, Professor."

"_Stupefy!_"

At point blank, the spell would have effectively rendered her unconscious. Except, to his dismay, the red light rebounded off of a shield she most definitely was not wearing a second before and nearly clipped him as a result. Severus hissed in frustration, but his moment of distraction proved to be disastrous. The ropes around the girl fell to the floor, another unspoken spell freeing her of the bindings. Apparently she could have freed herself at any point in their conversation.

"That was most impolite, Professor." She did not even bother drawing her wand, merely flicking her wrist; she summoned the flask back into her possession.

He should have begun volleying her with spells. He should have done everything he could to stop her. He should have done so many things…but he was tired. So very, very tired.

So he stood there, wand upraised and watched as the girl placed the flash on a nearby desk and unclasped something from around her neck. It appeared to be a locket of some sort.

"Since you seem to insist on fighting with me at every turn, I believe I will ensure you understand that such is unneeded. My only interest is in saving lives, Professor. You need not fear me." She summoned a nearby cauldron to her and unceremoniously dropped the locket within. Then she uncorked the venom and began to add drops.

A piercing scream filled the air as pure darkness seemed to rise and writhe above the edges of the cauldron. The girl observed this event with a hollow gaze, as if she had seen it happen a million times before, and continued to add drops until the screaming ceased and the darkness evaporated. Severus then realized that he had been holding his breath and that the mark on his arm was burning with truly unholy intensity.

"What did you do?" he asked, struggling to speak.

"My duty." Was all she said as she slipped the flask away into a pouch at her hip. "And I believe, you are being summoned to serve yours."

The witch promptly slipped from the room, leaving a very confused and very much in agony, Severus behind.

How exactly was he supposed to explain this incident to his Masters?

**TBC**?


	6. Chapter Five

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing except a laptop and the plot. Characters and world belong to J. K. Rowling.

**Destroyer**

**By Catsitta**

**Chapter five;;**

Shadows danced on delicate cheekbones as firelight flickered in the night. Across a mouth that was easily seen as too wide for its owners face; a chin with a stubborn set; and a unremarkable nose—light mingled with darkness, setting aglow the plain features of a waiting lioness. Hermione would never be described as beautiful, even when she reached her physical prime, she was an odd breed of pretty at best. At the moment, thick tangles of curly hair inauspiciously framed her visage and she had yet to gain enough weight to be considered healthy, much less cut a womanly silhouette. Not to mention the heavy bruises beneath her eyes and the horrid state of her fingernails.

Had she really chewed them that much in her youth?

Letting out a deep sigh, Hermione regarded the campfire that burned bright before her. Soon enough it would sputter out. The non-magical flames devoured with ancient, primal hunger the sparse kindling provided. Almost as if it were alive, the fire ate away at it nourishment, uncaring that it would soon burn up all sustenance, effectively ending its life.

Birth. Life. Death.

Hunger. Need.

Fate.

The fire knew not its sire, nor paid heed to its life, and in death it went in silence. It was fated to consume, destroy, and devour…then fade into ash. From the ashes would spring new life, given fertile soil and room to grow. That was the life of fire. It had purpose in its purposelessness. It was not driven by instinct or pulled about by destiny. It simply existed. To harm or to heal, it worried not in its use.

Hermione shuddered slightly, drawing her robes close around her body.

She closed her eyes and tried to chase away her envy of the dying flames.

.x.

In the light of morning, the broken remains of a tiara lay abandoned amongst the ashes.

.x.

Severus threw back a shot of Firewhiskey.

Retrospectively, he was quite fortunate to still be alive. What were a few broken bones, lacerations and a concussion in the grand scheme of things? The Dark Lord could have done much worse to his young spy for failing to bring the witch whom dared to defy him through the decimation of his ranks.

Destroyer, the darkest wizard declared her, would either join their ranks or meet her end before Hallows Eve.

Severus wondered idly what his punishment would have been had the Dark Lord gleaned any inkling of his meeting with the powerful, teenaged witch? Death he supposed would be quite the welcome end should the deception be discovered. Voldemort was dissolving into ruthless brutality unseen afore by his loyal followers. Traitors like himself need not fear assassination as much as capture and a bloody session beneath the man's fists.

The Dark Lord was once very much above physical abuse.

What changed?

Three nights ago, when Severus both found the newly named "Destroyer" raiding his supplies as well as faced his Dark master, the Dark Lord did not look nor act like the man he knew. Lord Voldemort, recently as a month ago, was a charming wizard. Charismatic, handsome and utterly transcendent in his charms. His touch and soft words of approval were what every Death Eater sought when they knelt at his feet and proclaimed him their master. There was something perversely alluring about submitting to the will of a living god, one who could ensnare the senses and capture the mind with his presence alone.

His Darkness only acted to amplify his appeal.

No man, no matter how Light, could dismiss the seductiveness of a truly Dark creature, for that contained chaos reached out to whisper sweet, addictive promises to all whom would listen. It was why the Dark Arts were so dangerous, albeit misunderstood. Darkness was chaos. Chaos was power. Power always corrupts. But Darkness was not corruption. Darkness was not inherently evil. It merely was the complement to the Light and what balanced the shining serenity of what the lesser learned called Good.

However, the Dark Lord no longer exuded cool control over his perfect chaos. His calculating mind was warped into a paranoid, violent wreck that would no doubt lead to a terrible self-destruction. It was rather difficult to control the world when you have crushed in the ribcages and skulls of your obedient, little followers.

Severus reached for the bottle of Odgen's Finest resting on the end table beside him, his gaze focused on the perpetually burning fire of his Floo.

Whatever the wayward witch was doing, it was beginning to look as if it would be the death of him.

He threw back another shot, savoring the trademark burn.

Perhaps tomorrow evening, after class, he could check on the Malfoy's. Lucius' lovely wife had sent Severus a letter announcing the Lord of the manor's continued recovery. The blond hadn't spoken much in the past few weeks, his mental and emotional state still in question despite his physical wellness. When the Professor last penetrated Lucius' mind with Legilimency, all was in disarray and Severus found himself unable to connect enough of the fractured memories to learn how the man came to be in a broken state.

.x.

Dressed in his teaching robes, the potions master was an inky stain amongst the lavish gardens of Malfoy Manor. Albino peacocks strutted about the lawn, eyes unblinking as they watched the newcomer approach, screeching their obnoxious call as if they were banshee's announcing the arrival of Death himself. Severus never understood Lucius' obsession with the hauntingly lovely animals. Their beauty could not compensate for loathsome shriek peafowl claimed as song.

Haltingly, Severus slipped through the autumn kissed garden and past the iron wrought gates between he and the magnificent front doors. His mind awhirl with foreboding contemplations, he almost did not notice when he reached his destination and a house elf announced his arrival to the household. Only Narcissa's cultured greetings that shattered his darkening thoughts and brought his focus to the present.

"My Lady," the young Professor offered politely. He dared not smile, smirk nor sneer at the wraithlike woman whose fingers he gently kissed, as he was wont to do. They were friends, aware of each other's faults and shortcomings, and all too eager to pry said flaws apart with a sharp remark; but at this moment, rapier wit seemed an edge too keen. Narcissa was not a weak woman. A nervous wreck under the pressure of a fight, all too desperate to avoid conflict, but not weak. She was the ice-cold mistress of her home, a true Pureblood lady of the finest breeding and social grooming. It took strength to become this way.

But it was not strength he saw before him now.

Narcissa was prim and proper, not a hair out of place, nor a crease in her diaphanous gown. But her red-lipped smile was strained, her analytical gaze dull and distant. And instead of making a cool remark of her before shoving the infant son in her arms into Severus', claiming he was so good with children and inquiring about his current state of bachelorhood…she merely stepped aside, allowing Severus entrance into her home.

"Lucius is awake," she told him, stroking Draco's sleeping face. "I trust you can find your way to the library?"

"Indeed."

Slowly, Narcissa wandered away, the way she held Draco radiating possessiveness. Severus wondered if he would ever hold his godson ever again given how it had taken years for the Malfoy's to produce a living heir and the stress of his birth left Narcissa unable to carry again to term. Now with Lucius having lingered at the edge of death, it would be no wonder if the young woman squirreled herself and her son away, desperate to hold onto her precious baby boy. Family meant more to her than she would ever admit aloud.

Severus swept up the grand staircase, ignoring the niggling reminders of what had occurred here less than a month earlier. So many injured and dead. The floor would forever be akin to a sea of blood in his memory.

Quietly, he made his way to the library, a grandiose room as ostentatious as the rest of the manor: with marble floors, sculpted columns and walls filled with tomes rare and ancient. The Lord of the house sat in the midst of the elegance, draped over a lush velvet chair, wand dangling casually from his hand. If it were not for the fact that Lucius, a consummate social climber, despised idleness, since time could be well spent playing the political fields, Severus might not believe anything wrong with the man.

His silence bespoke volumes.

"Old friend," Severus murmured, rounding the blond so that he could perch himself in the chair opposite of the quiet wizard. "I see you are well."

Lucius nodded absently.

"You know the reasoning behind my visit?"

The blond sighed, adverting his normally piercing gaze.

"What do you remember of your attack?"

A curl twisted upon Lucius' lip,"And thus the interrogation begins."

"Lucius…" Severus started.

"Can you not let a broken man nurse his wounds? Do you savor my humiliation?"

"Lucius!" The blond tensed at the admonishment. "Your behavior is juvenile. It's clear that the only thing wrong with you is injured pride."

"You know nothing."

"I know nothing? I know that you were attack in your own home Lucius. I know that you were brutally maimed and left for dead. I know who did it. What I do not know is why and if you refuse to cooperate, I cannot help you, old friend."

"That sneer of yours had no effect on me, Severus." Lucius replied after a long pause. Dismissively, he waved the younger man's building fury away. "I have no wish to talk. Do not press the issue."

"Daring to defy the Dark Lord's orders, are we? How bold."

The blond had the good sense to cringe,"Leave me."

"Only when you tell me what happened that night. You must know why you were attacked."

Resignation, that was what Severus saw in Lucius' eyes when he turned those steely-blues his way.

"I do not wish to speak of it."

"Then I must take alternate measures."

Obsidian captured blue and delved deep into tumultuous waters of Malfoy's mind.

**TBC?**

**A/N: (Next chapter will shed light on the attack on Malfoy as well as pave the way to a certain twist in the plot. Things have yet to get…complicated for the pair.)**


	7. Chapter Six

**Disclaimer: I own nothing except a laptop and the plot. Characters and world belong to J. K. Rowling.**

**Destroyer**

**By Catsitta**

**Chapter six;;**

It was in the shadowed corner in which he stood, watching in contemplative silence as the Order of the Phoenix bickered amongst themselves. So many had been lost in the past year, Severus noted grimly. No love was lost between he and a vast majority of the members, but the ranks of the Light were dwindling fast. With Alice and Frank Longbottom comatose and unresponsive in St. Mungo's, Lily and James Potter in hiding and others having since fallen prey to the numb embrace of death—less than a dozen men and women stood to face the ever growing Dark. Being a double agent, a spy whom everyone in the room knew walked the grey line between "good and evil", alienated Severus immensely. Many of the Order whispered in his presence, covertly planning their escapades and the while treating him with minimal tolerance.

He was not liked. He was not trusted. And yet, he was the one whom kept the Order alive thus far. It was because of his actions and observances, his misdirection and information, that preserved the safe houses and protected members from raids. If it were not for him, hundreds more innocent lives would have been lost!

Yet, here he was, treated like the scum of the earth.

Abused by both masters he served. Used like a convenient scapegoat. A pawn that both sides wished to play covertly against the other. Dispensable. All he had sought was acceptance, a sense of purpose and control over and otherwise chaotic life. And all he had gained was a guaranteed death sentence and no chance of becoming…respectable.

Severus scowled at his train of thought. He did not often wear another expression these days.

"Severus, my boy, you claimed to have news to share." It was Dumbledore whom spoke, drawing the young Professor's gaze towards the rest of the Order. All eyes were on him, none regarding him with anything akin to respect. Ingrates. The lot of them. Lupin seemed to hold pity in his eyes. Severus had no use for pity, especially not from a monster that should be exterminated. Filthy werewolf. Why Dumbledore allowed that animal into the Order, he'd never understand…except he was a Marauder. One of the Headmaster's golden Gryffindor boys who could do no wrong.

Disgusting.

Forcing himself to maintain a semblance of calm, Severus regaled the Order members of his latest findings. The Dark Lord was getting antsy and violent to the point of irrationality. His attacks on muggles and muggle-borns were becoming sporadic but increasingly vicious. No less than twenty people of "lesser birth" had died in the past week due to Death Eater raids or planned "accidents". The Dark Lord was fervent in his mission to destroy the one who would defeat him, his prophesized enemy, a child born of those whom had defied him thrice.

The Potters were in grave peril as was the Longbottom's son.

Both needed to go under the protection of a _Fidelius_ charm and choose a Secret-Keeper. Hallow's Eve was fast approaching.

"I have information on the young witch whom attacked Malfoy Manner as well," Severus intoned, sneering as he continued. "For those who are not aware: the girl appears to be in her late teens, brown eyes and curly brown hair, and stands perhaps five feet five inches. She wears what can best be described as oversized student robes and is marked as extremely dangerous. While her crusades against the Death Eaters are quickly becoming notorious, she had yet to align herself with either side of the war and has proven her tendency to strike first regardless of her adversary. She is well versed in wandless and wordless magic and is highly unpredictable. She has yet to deliver a fatal blow or employ usage of the Unforgivables from what I can gather from my sources, some of which have been…first hand."

As destructive as the Destroyer was, she did not seem to have a penchant for slaughtering people by her own wand. Investigations of the dead and wounded at Malfoy Manor had proven surprising. Compulsion spells were at play and aside from a few broken bones and lacerations, none of the Death Eaters were wounded by the Destroyer's hand. She had literally compelled the wizards to slaughter each other, defending herself with shields and tossing reflexive hexes now and then, but the witch did not kill anyone directly. At worst, she maimed a few…

…which brought him to his latest revelation.

"The Destroyer, as deemed by the Dark Lord, is driven by an unknown mission. From what I have come to understand, it involves the destruction of certain items…perhaps artifacts of some variation, through the usage of basilisk venom." Severus said as he reached into his robes, withdrawing from them the warped remains of a silver locket. "This is one such item, but I cannot surmise its purpose as of yet, given its state."

Moody, the paranoid git that he was, stood, knocking his chair back with a crash as he did so.

"And how exactly did come to possess that bauble, Snape?"

It was a thinly veiled threat. A very, very thinly veiled threat.

Exuding an air of indifference, Severus continued,"She left it behind after stealing from my stores." Dumbledore arched his brows at this, having not heard of the incident before now. The old man disapproved of his spy keeping secrets from him. Bloody tosser needed to learn that not everyone thought of him as a dotty grandfather or as a brilliant leader of the Light that needed to be trusted with every scrap of information. "The girl and I have crossed paths...more than once. The incident where I obtained this locket being the third meeting of ours."

"So you're working with the witch?" declared Moody with a snarl. "Whose side are you on, Snape? First you kiss the boots of Voldemort,"—Severus could not help but cringe at the usage of the Dark Lord's name—"and then you crawl to Dumbledore when you 'realize the error of your ways'. Now this Destroyer character comes around and you're the only one who isn't blown to bits by the chit."

With the exception of a few select members of the Order, no one knew how involved Severus was involved with the Death Eaters. Strange how most chose to live in ignorance of the fact that a mark wearing wizard stood amongst their ranks, aware only on the most subconscious of levels. Moody accused Severus constantly of being a traitor and a Death Eater, wanting nothing more than a good excuse to lock away the Order's spy for the rest of his life. Only Dumbledore stilled his hand and kept the young Professor "trusted", claiming that he was not and had never been a Death Eater, despite his wearing of the Dark Lord's mark.

However, the teen witch's erratic behavior had succeeded in sending a waver of distrust through the Order. Some of the more twitchy members were eyeing him like a dangerous animal, ready to curse him should he so much as moved the wrong way.

"I do not understand the Destroyer's intent, Alastor." With a flick of the wrist, the locket sailed through the air, landing in the middle of the long table around which the Order sat. Everyone stared at it, reluctant to touch. "What I can assure is that I am far from alliance with the witch. In our every encounter, there were hexes exchanged. She simply believes me…"—special?—"…of little import.

"On a related note, my hypothesis of her hunt is further qualified by my most recent findings. As you all well know, Lucius Malfoy was attacked in his home before the meeting. The Destroyer is at fault. Her objective was to obtain a book...Tom Riddle's diary to be exact."

Dumbledore inhaled sharply, paling considerably, his demeanor blackened with revelation.

"Why did Malfoy possess…" the wizened wizard began, his words trailing off meaningfully.

"It was a favor," Severus explained. "One he accepted most graciously. It is a great honor to be bequeathed a token of the Dark Lord's affections."

The room fell silent. Even Moody sat down, speechless.

Severus closed his eyes, pinching his nose as he did so to fend away a blossoming headache. Memories of his meeting with Lucius slithered over him, filling his mind's eyes of the fateful attack.

_Lucius smiled at his wife as he pulled out her chair with a courtly bow. The woman offered him a demur fluttering of her lashes, a subtle curl flickering onto her painted lips. Dinner was a grand affair despite the attendance of two. Candle flame danced in the half-darkness of the dining room, the shadows cloaking the couple in an intimate manner. This was supposed to be a night of romance for the pair. _

_As they tucked into the first course, Lucius tensed. Someone had broken his wards. He listened for a moment to the sound of the spell warning him of an intruder briefly, before dismissing himself to attend the matter. The minutes passed without issue…until a house-elf popped into existence, exclaiming that there was a stranger in the library. _

_Like a Malfoy, fool that he was, the man strode boldly towards the library, managing to open the door and take one step in before all hell broke loose. _

_He saw the witch, the hood of her robes lowered as she examined the book in her hands. Lucius recognized the text in an instant, for he was supposed to be its keeper. He knew not its contents, nor why a strange witch would want it, but either way, the stranger was a threat and a thief. He gestured his wand with a wild flourish, thinking himself having the upper hand. But the spell glanced off an invisible barrier and the witch looked up._

_Amusement played in the girl's eyes._

_"Hello Lucius," she greeted softly. "Fancy meeting you here."_

Who in Merlin's name is this witch? _Lucius wondered as he exclaimed,"This is my home, wretch!"_

_The witch did not respond. Rather, she slipped the book into a small, beaded bag at her waist and made to walk past Malfoy as if she were an honored guest. Lucius, clever enough to know when a wand was and wasn't the best option at hand, sheathed the slender slip of wood and reached out to grab the intruder. As his hands closed around her wrist, the girl flinched, eyes widening fractionally as the significantly larger wizard pulled her close. _

_She was bone-thin beneath his grip._

_"You have made a grave error in stealing from a Malfoy," Lucius threatened, adding pressure to the bird-like bone trapped in his hand. She would be easy to break. The inherently Dark part of Malfoy's mind relished in this thought. The girl would suffer for her impudence._

_"And you have made an even graver error in threatening me, Lucius." The witch tossed her head rebelliously, the hood of her cloak falling back, revealing her bushy mass of hair. A heartbeat passed between them. "Let Tom Riddle know I have his diary…that is, if you survive." She flashed him an eerie smile, lips parting over her teeth in an animalistic sneer, like a predator ready to savor the bloody reward of a fresh kill. _

_Lucius reacted instantly; spinning the girl around, he thrust her against a wall. He used his weight to pin her and a second later, both of his hands were around her throat. The girl writhed against him, gasping. The Dark Lord would never hear of this incident. He would dispose of this wench himself. _

_When he felt her grow lax in his grip, Lucius released the witch and drew his wand, confident that his prey posed him little threat, laying there on her hands and knees, trembling. _

_"_Cru—"_ the witch flung one hand at her adversary. "Expelliarmus!"_

_It was as if he were hit with a wall of pure energy, it stole his breath and wand away whilst knocking him backwards against a bookcase. Lucius hissed as waves of pain radiated through his spine; he then shot a glare at the witch standing before him. Her wand soon traced the hollow of his collarbone, ever briefly, before it was pulled away and he thrown across of the room like a child's toy. _

_Helpless. He was helpless. Ropes wrapped around his body, ensnaring him, furthering his vulnerability. Lucius struggled against the bonds. Fear fluttered briefly in his chest. Was this witch actually going to make good on her threat to kill him? _Apparate!_ His mind cried as panic began to seep in deep. Lucius struggled to stand up, but only made it to his knees before the first curse hit him, blinding him with agony. _

_He could not bite back his scream._

_"Does it make me a monster to feel nothing about your pain? I should savor your suffering…or be overcome with remorse. Revenge is a most bitter tonic, especially when you've drank your fill and must continue to choke it down. Eventually, it loses all taste, all appeal." The witch sounded wistful, her words directed at no one in particular. "What I would not do to savor life again."_

_"Let me g-go." Lucius demanded._

_"Not yet. I must deliver a message." She flicked her wand, and another invisible knife slashed deep into his flesh, rending muscle from bone. "No one is safe. Not even Voldemort."_

_Another curse found its target. And another. Ripping Lucius into the black depths of unconsciousness…_

…Severus opened his eyes.

"The Dark Lord wants her recruited or dead before Hallowe'en."

All eyes turned to Dumbledore. This was meeting was going to last late into the night.

.x.

Elsewhere, the object of their discussion stood in the doorstep of the Le'Strange estate, wondering if Rabastian and his wife were home.

**TBC?**

**A/N: ( Love all the feedback I've been getting! Reviews are simply lovely.**

**Character note on Hermione: **

I've always thought of Hermione as an incredibly weak character. She's stubborn and smart, yes, but is very emotional. In every book, she has some break down where she ends up crying. In fact, the trio is all unstable emotionally, each having a hot temper and impulse control. So I created this Hermione based on what I would think would happen if she were forced into a "strong" role. She's vulnerable, naïve and foolishly brave, but broken by the war. She experienced so much violence and loss so young. Then toss her, at no more than nineteen or so, back into the heat of the war. Again and again. Make her struggle and fight. She becomes desperate to save her friends and family, to help the good overcome evil. But she fails, for one reason or another, again and again. Her inferiority complex (something made evident by her constant desire to prove herself throughout the books) is made worse and worse, driving her to feel helpless and worthless. All sense of control is lost. Eventually, she grows numb from all the fighting, and accepts her helplessness as a given. It warps her psyche and she loses much of her ambition, but the Time Shifter forces her to continue, and pushes her to make grand, interfering gestures.

She just wants the dying and fighting to end.

But she has no choice but to fight.

**Thanks for reading! Hallows Eve approaches~and you all know what happens on Hallowe'en.)**


	8. Chapter Seven

**Disclaimer: I own nothing except a laptop and the plot. Characters and world belong to J. K. Rowling.**

**Destroyer**

**By Catsitta**

**Chapter seven;;**

_Come evening, everything will change._

Five Horcruxes were gone, leaving Voldemort's familiar as the remaining vassal. Which left Hermione at a crossroad. Should she circumvent the Dark Lord's second rise by killing the snake, rendering the megalomaniac mortal and slay him before he shattered his soul a seventh time? Should she leave things well alone and allow for nature to take its course, resulting in a distorted version of her original reality? The possibilities were endless. As it were, there was a good chance that Voldemort was protecting his snake, likely having heard word of his precious soul fragments being stolen out of the homes of his followers and various other hiding places. But, she had a strong feeling that he was yet unaware.

Bellatrix and her husband Rodolpho Lestrange were the wild cards in this respect. She knew that the former had been bequeathed Hufflepuff's Cup (thus her hiding it in her Gringotts vault) _after_ the Dark Lord's second rise for one reason or another, but had known of its existence in the Le'Strange estate long before then. There was a chance that neither she, nor her husband's brother, Rabastian, and his wife, noticed the disappearance of the Horcrux, thus did not report it missing.

Lucius was much more predictable regarding the diary. His injury and subsequent failings in the Dark Lord's eyes would silence him. The man was prideful but full of Slytherin cunning. It would not benefit him or his family to admit losing the diary—in fact, death would be a blessing should Voldemort catch wind of the truth. Thus to save face, the wizard would hold his silver tongue and wait, his sense of self-preservation greater than any Pureblood fanaticism or greed that drove him into the service of the Dark.

Hermione sighed and rubbed her face with both hands. Sleepless nights were catching up with her. Soon, however, she could rest. No matter what, the Dark Lord would fall tonight, and she would have a chance to rest.

.x.

Severus could not believe what he was hearing.

The Dark Lord knew the location of the Potters' Secret-Kept home in Godric's Hollow. He was planning a raid that would end the life of his prophesized enemy…That meant there was a traitor in the Order. Gritting his teeth, Severus recalled the discussions about the Potters' safe house and who would become Secret-Keeper. The three considered were all Marauders: Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, and Peter Pettigrew. Severus _knew_ Pettigrew, out of all them, was the least likely to keep his mouth shut. He'd not yet managed to corner the rat and discover whether or not he was faithful to the Order or bore the Dark Mark like himself, but instinct had screamed against trusting him with anything, much less a Secret. As for the other two, they were unpredictable at best.

Lupin was considered a Dark creature by the Ministry and a tended to play the "Woe is me, I'm pitiful" card more than Severus' liking, given how he was a worthless animal. But, he was loyal to a fault, quicker to die than confess anything that would endanger his friends.

Black was simply worthless, with no redeeming qualities. He was an impulsive, arrogant bully and a brat who believed that the world should heel at his every whim. It was no wonder that he and Potter became the best of mates on the Hogwarts Express. But for the life of him, Severus could not understand why Lily, sweet, sensible Lily, would adore the mutt as she did, declaring him a brother and a worthy Godfather for her son.

Out of the three, Lupin would whom he would task with keeping a Secret.

Yet, from what he gleaned from fragments of conversations amongst the Order, Black had been chosen. Black! The loudmouth was only marginally better than the rat. At least his blatant hatred of all things Dark chased away any risk of the man joining the Death Eaters and leaking information. But, if it was Black whom was Secret-Keeper, then how did Voldemort learn of the Potter's location? Had he been captured? Tortured? Imperiused?

Was the mutt a traitor?

Pushing away from the wall, against which he listened to the Dark Lord scheming aloud, muttering to himself in a broken manner. Severus shook his head, aware that he could do nothing to circumvent the events that would soon come to pass. Order members were stationed to guard the targeted families, but it was not enough. By the gods, it was not enough.

Damning himself to the flames of hell for his misguided bid to the Dark in a moment of weakness and ambition, Severus disaperated, a million thoughts racing in his head.

One of which, bizarrely enough, was an offhand pondering of whether or not the Destroyer would attempt to curb fate. That is, if she still remained in Britain. She had disappeared. None could find her. But she was out there. He knew it. In a moment of weakness, as he landed at his destination, Severus prayed to a God he did not believe in, hoping—begging—that this night of ghosts would not take a bloody turn.

.x.

As night fell upon Godric's Hollow, a sinister, green shape filled the air. Fear filled every heart. Screams pierced the air. And in a flash of deadly light, all went silent. Save for the cry of an infant, scarcely a year old. Over him loomed a figure clad in black, its robes streaked with dark stains.

"Hello Harry," she murmured, reaching into the cradle to stoke the baby boy's puffy face. Crooning softly, she quieted his wails to frightened sniffles, eyes of piercing green wide with confusion. "It's all over. Nagini is dead. Voldemort has fallen. And you are safe, you're soul untouched by his evil."

Hermione shuddered. Had it been a mistake? Had she failed again by not arriving soon enough to save the Potter's from their grisly fate? The charms around the Secret-Kept home fell when James Potter died, allowing those whom did not "know" its location see and enter the property. In the split second delay required of her to slay the serpent once she rushed inside, caused her to be just late enough to witness Lily fall. As Voldemort came to hover above Harry, she cast the one curse in her arsenal reserved solely for him.

In a flash of emerald, it was all over.

The Dark Lord would rise never again. His wicked mark was banished from the sky…and ripped from the flesh of those whom wore it.

As if on cue, a masculine scream broke the pensive silence and one Severus Snape staggered through the door, collapsing to his knees in agony. From behind him, she heard familiar voices as the Order prepared to flood the room. And from above, she heard an eerie groan, reminding her of the fire that was eating away at the framework and filling the room slowly with odorous, black smoke.

Hermione smiled and with a flick of her wand, shut the door, locking it. Then, she scooped up Harry in one hand and tucked him under her arm, careful to hold him securely. Snape looked up then, recovering from his suffering with feverish slowness as he blinked away the disorientation. As his eyes caught sight of her and the bundle she carried, he shot to his feet, shivering.

"What have you done?" Snape croaked without preamble.

"Hello to you too, Professor." Hermione tucked her wand away and brushed her fingertips over Harry's forehead, where he usually bore a scar. Was it over? Truly over? Or had it just begun? What evil would plague the world now that the Dark Lord was gone? Would this become her greatest failure of all? "Pardon, but I must cut pleasantries short. If you hadn't noticed yet, the building is on fire and will fall on our heads any moment now." She flashed a smile.

His eyes widened in horror at her dismissive attempt at humor.

Then, the dominoes of fate began to fall at a precarious angle.

Sounding akin to a gunshot, the support beams gave way, and the smoke that had filtered into the room afore, billowed thickly, the gap beneath the door bright from the churning flames. Order members let out cries of terror and pain. And Severus Snape lunged forwards, making a desperate grab for Harry as the walls collapsed around them.

Hermione closed her eyes.

Willing herself to Disapperate to someplace safe.

Except, she couldn't. Something blocked her. Fear lanced her frigid heart…and a warm hand closed about her shoulder. The heat grew in intensity.

Then nothing.

She was floating in darkness.

**TBC?**

**A/N: (This was a surprisingly difficult chapter to write…and it took much longer than expected. **

**Just so ya'll know, the actual "plot" of this tale will start next chapter as the first seeds of "romance" part of this fic are sown. But before then…Cliffie!)**


	9. Chapter Eight

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing except a laptop and the plot. Characters and world belong to J. K. Rowling.

**Destroyer**

**By Catsitta**

**Chapter eight;;**

Darkness.

Weightlessness.

Nothingness.

.x.

_Tears traced scalding paths down raw skin, burning bloodshot eyes. Nails, bitten and brittle, bit angry crescents into pallid flesh. Teeth pierced through the chapped swell of a lower-lip, flooding their owner's mouth with the coppery tang of blood. _

_The pain was refreshing. It was familiar. It reminded her that she was alive._

_But at what cost?_

_Seven years of childhood were wasted on war. Friends, schoolmates and allies lay dead amongst fallen foes. Strangers, both young and old, magical and muggle, were victims in the cruel game of chess that was the battle between Light and Dark—Dumbledore and You-Know—who…no, Voldemort. Never again would she give that name power over her. _

_Voldemort. The Dark Lord. The ultimate evil. He was dead. But the war…it would never be over. Not for the heroes. Not for the children of prophecy. The seeds of discontent were already germinating, their roots digging deep into the rich earth of their once-innocent souls. Nightmares would plague them. Failures would haunt them. And those they lost could never be regained._

_Ron was the lucky one. He only lost one brother. Heartless as it sounded, it resonated true in the hearts of the other two of the "Golden Trio". _

_Harry's parents were murdered, his godfather lost before his very eyes, his mentor was slain by the man he begged to end his life…who in turn bled out to death on the floor of the Shrieking Shack, his debts to the Light paid with in blood. Then there were countless others, only a few to name being the last living Marauder and his wife, whose newborn son they left behind; a paranoid wizard with a magical eye; and a snowy white owl that had been his friend when the Dursley's deprived him of the basic human comfort of kindness._

_As for Hermione, compared to the Boy-Who-Lived, she lost very little, save her innocence and pride. But what she did lose threatened to shatter her. The parents she so desperately acted to protect were gone. Oh, they were alive, yes. Living out their retirement happily in Australia…oblivious to the fact that they had a daughter. She should be grateful that the Death Eaters never found them, but the child that yet remained within her selfishly cried out in dismay that she could not reverse the charms…and that they would never remember her. They would never hold her. Never comfort her. Never tell her that things would be okay and that they loved her._

_She was in essence, an orphan._

_With Ron mourning at the Burrow with his family, and his very much alive parents—a scene that left Hermione feeling like an outsider—and Harry refusing to be seen by or speak to anyone, Hermione was alone. She hadn't made many friends in school and those that she needed most, considered brothers, were in no state of mind to ease her troubles. Everyone else she thought to turn to were immediately dismissed. _

_She did not want pity._

_She wanted love. She wanted hope. She wanted to feel alive._

_But it was so difficult to do so when she felt dead. Empty. Weightless. Without resolve or purpose. She was supposed to be the brightest witch of her age, yet here she was, sitting in the ruins of a yet to be rebuilt segment of Hogwarts, without an ounce of ambition to drive her elsewhere. _

_"We won. I'm alive," she said aloud—a mantra she repeated often—but the words sounded hollow. Was she really alive? Could this wallowing in limbo be considered living? Choking on the phrase as she uttered it again, Hermione buried her face into the cradle of her arms and rested her chin on bent knees. Curled up like this she was paradoxically safe and vulnerable. After all, nothing could pierce her vital organs, but the fetal position betrayed her weakness…her fear. Gently, she rocked herself, weeping, the hurt flowing like a burst dam down a river. _

_The tears kept coming until she was too exhausted to cry and too numb to grieve. _

_However, the pain remained, lancing deep into her wounded heart. Thoughts that she smothered beneath a veneer of self-assurance and accomplishment began to leak through, seeping into her mind like poison._

Worthless. You're worthless. A failure like you didn't deserve to live when those more worthy died. If you had been worth anything, you would have figured out the Horcruxes sooner…you would have been able to reverse the Obliviate on your parents…your friends would still speak to you. They know how useless you are. You know they would have preferred an actual loved one to survive in your stead.

_Her breath caught and she shuddered, unable to muster the strength to push away the doubt or dissolve into tears. _

I wish….I wish there was something…anything…I could do to make things okay again. I wish…gods I wish…that the pain would just go away. That I can wake up from this nightmare.

_A prickle of warning raised the hairs on the back of Hermione's neck. She looked up. _

_There, sitting innocently amid the wreckage of the Room of Lost Things, no more than a meter from her scuffed trainers, was a compass, gleaming bright and golden in the fading light. Hermione could not help it. She knelt on trembling knees and crawled closer, reaching out to grasp the object that beckoned her near. _

_They say curiosity killed the cat…and it did._

_This one's intuition brought her back…back to life…back in time…_

_Again and again and again…_

.x.

Light. Golden light.

It sang to her. It compelled her to bathe in its glow. To bask in its warmth.

Then it consumed her, filling the frigid darkness with sweltering light. Merlin! It burned. She wanted to scream in agony. Her skin felt as if it were blistering and peeling away. Her blood was boiling, bursting forth from her wounds in a gush of steam. Her very bones were melting…

…this was it. She had failed yet again.

In death, this was her rebirth…a baptism of fire that rent her soul from her mortal shell. Like a phoenix, she would be reborn from the ashes.

As the pain reached its terrible crescendo, it suddenly receded, her awareness wrenched back into the oblivion of darkness. Such had never occurred before. And it frightened her. Gods, what could have caused the draw of the Time Shifter to be denied?

_"Wake up!"_

Was someone speaking to her?

_"Damn you, girl, wake up!"_

Yes. Yes they were. And they were shaking her too. She could feel the sensation at the outskirts of her awareness.

_"What in Merlin's name was that thing and what did it do to you?" _the voice and the shaking continued. "_I said: Wake up! Do not dare to die on my watch you insolent wretch. You defied the very forces of Dark without suffering a scratch, yet a collapsed roof renders you unconscious and that thing appears out of thin air stops your heart. Wake…up!"_

_"Severus, what are you doing?" Another voice joined the other._

_"Waking her. She cannot remain catatonic…"_

_"Why in the bloody blazes would you try to do that? The girl needs her rest."_

_"She was dead, Poppy!"_

_"What?"_

_"I am not prone to repeating myself, Madam."_

_"That is impossible. Her vitals were stable. She should have been…"_

_"—she wasn't! If I had been elsewhere...had she been alone with that thing…"_

_"Thing? What thing? You are not making sense, Severus, and quite frankly you look a fright."_

The voices faded into a dull roar, muddling together unintelligibly.

Then, the weightlessness that held her aloft, dropped Hermione unceremoniously into the realm of consciousness.

Gasping, the witch jackknifed up from where she lay, startling the two other occupants in the room. Hermione gulped down large mouthfuls of air, drenching starving lungs in much needed oxygen as her heart beat a wild tattoo against her ribcage. Instinctively, she knew her location. It was a place she had been many a time afore: Hogwarts' Hospital Wing. But why? How?

She could feel her pupils dilating.

"Harry!" she exclaimed, her racing mind filling with memories both faded and recent. If she was here with Snape and Madam Pomfrey, then what had come of the toddling babe that she had tucked beneath her arm? Had he died? Was that why the Time Shifter tried to claim her? And why—how—did it fail? Did Snape interfere? Would it return? Was she free?

Hermione did not notice her shallow, accelerated breathing until spots –and Snape—filled her line of vision. Panic attacks were a common enough occurrence for her. She knew when she was on the verge of one. Nothing helped save for time, silence and sleep. But she could not form any excuse as the young Potion's Professor gripped her jaw with one, surprisingly strong hand, pried open her mouth and poured an absolutely vile concoction down her throat.

A Calming Draught.

The disconnectedness it offered was the last thing she wanted or needed.

Black submerged all that was in her sight. Except, this blackness was living, filled with the fathomless depths of the complicated man whose emotions dwelled within it. Snape's obsidian gaze riveted her own, forcing Hermione to stare into the darkness. She felt the whisper of his mind brushing against the gates of her own, stealthily seeking entrance…or perhaps a crack in her defense through which to break in.

Neither were prepared for what happened when he managed to snare one of her, now sluggish, thoughts.

It opened a maelstrom of anxiety, fear and desperation.

No memories leaked forth, but every emotion and musing that raced at the surface of her consciousness was whirling about, enrapturing them both. Hermione could not fight it. She did not wish to. She wanted to feel. She wanted to remember she was alive. The force of her thoughts was like that of a hurricane, and the intruder was swept up by its violent winds as easily as she. From him, she gleaned a single fragment. A single truth.

Snape pulled away suddenly, scrambling back as if he'd just been bitten by a cornered beast.

But they both knew they saw…experienced.

Her mind fixated on that strain of thought. She understood.

Harry's wellbeing and her location were pushed aside as less relevant matters for the moment.

"You saved my life."

**TBC?**

**A/N: Everyone knows what happens when you save a witch or wizard's life, yes?**

** Okay…no romance yet. It was planned, but it was shuffled up a bit with other things. However, expect it soon.**

**And, just as a side note, expect some inaccuracies when it comes to cannon events, names, dates, etc. My memories are a touch fuzzy and fudging a few things helps the flow of the story. Sorry if this irks cannon-pickers, but this is an AU…and I do try not to skew too many critical details.**

**Whew…enjoy! Thank you for reading, reviewing and being patient with me. **


	10. Chapter Nine

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing except a laptop and the plot. Characters and world belong to J. K. Rowling.

**Destroyer**

**By Catsitta**

**Chapter nine;;**

_"You saved my life."_

Severus could feel the power resonating behind that statement. A life debt. She owed him in a manner that ancient magic made binding. He did not want this, he realized as he reeled away. He did not wish upon another what James Potter enacted upon him. It filled the debtor with the overwhelming sense of obligation to the persons they owed a debt and would be urged to do whatever was required of them by that individual until the debt is paid in full. Often, such debts resulted in resentment and seeded the dark illness that was loathing.

The last thing he needed was a powerful witch whom wanted to make his existence a worse hell than it was presently. Even if she could not "harm" him, there was much she could do to ruin his life should she choose to take her frustrations out on his hide. Except…he could not bear to relinquish the debt and release her from its ties. It would be very un-Slytherin of him to do so. This debt, if played right, could be to his advantage. After all, she had many secrets at her beck and call that teased his very nature, bidding him to seek a means of manipulating them.

Considering the events of the past few hours, Severus found himself staring into the strange eyes of the one he knew only as the Destroyer.

"Who are you?" he asked. Countless time before he had made the same inquiry, her answer elusive at best. "Why were you at the Potter's residence last night? And what was that…thing?"

The girl smiled blandly at him,"I was saving lives, Professor. Through killing Voldemort"—Severus flinched—"I sought to prevent pointless slaughter. As for the object in question, the one that nearly killed me, well, quite simply, that thing was the bane of my existence. I was a victim of the Fate it desired and apparently, I went off track with my actions. What is curious, Professor, is the fact that you stopped it from exacting its pound of flesh for my failure. What did you do exactly?"

Finding the conversation turned on him, Severus scowled. "I banished the infernal device," was his curt reply. "But my actions are not under question. I repeat: Who are you?"

"Very well…Call me Hermione."

"Is it your given name? What of you surname?"

Hermione, as she called herself, offered him a thoughtful frown, her gaze distant.

"Yes. It is my given name…and as good as any other, I suppose. As for my surname…it doesn't matter. Looking in the records, you will find nothing about me. As far as the Ministry is concerned, I do not exist. Thus, a surname is of no importance, to me, to you, or to anyone else."

"Then why do you refuse to divulge it?"

"Because…it is a name that belongs to another. Someone…I am no longer." The air between them was thick enough to cut with a knife. With every answered question, another five were presented. "What I need is a new name. After all, it appears that I have a second lease on life." She glanced around. "That, and a new wand as it appears mine is…gone."

"How could you not be sure that I do not have it my possession?"

Hermione had the audacity to laugh,"Ah, Professor. You sound so put upon. As for my wand, well, I was well in tune with it and I can no longer feel its…presence. It is as if a part of me is broken, but not beyond repair."

"Should the Wizengamot not send you to Azkaban, a new wand is something easily acquired."

"Azkaban? Exactly what are my crimes? I did little more than curse a few Death Eaters…and of course, defeat the infamous He-who-must-not-be-named," Hermione grinned at the moniker, but it faded as she continued bitterly, "If anything, I will be lauded as a hero. Now, if you will excuse me…I have a life to figure out and a life debt to repay."

She swung her legs out from beneath the thin sheet and made to stand. Barefoot and clad in nothing more than a unflattering hospital gown, she looked so…helpless. Hermione was light enough that Severus could lift her with one arm if he wanted, and the malnutrition impacted her health dramatically. This was the powerful and feared Destroyer? This world-weary, broken creature with her too wise eyes and feral posture. She was a starved ally cat that had proved queen of the junkyard due to cleverness and tenacity alone. Strength existed in that frail body, but it was all but exhausted in the fight.

Having traveled a similar path, of weakness and battles, Severus stepped forth, a pillar of strength between her and the exit. The injuries he suffered when the roof collapsed were superficial and easily patched with a quick flick of Poppy's wand. He was in better shape arriving this morning than usual when he ended up unconscious and in the mediwitch's care. She'd mended countless broken bones, lacerations and various wounds received from fist fights, potion's accidents and curses. Poppy knew his history and his body better than he due to his all too frequent trips to the Hospital Wing, starting mere days from his entering the hallowed halls of Hogwarts for the first time. To quote her on her more exasperated days, a typical result from having an awake Severus as a paitent: "No need to be secretive. Nothing about you surprises me anymore, Mr. Snape. I swear I've seen more of your naked arse than your own mother."

Poppy had tittered and tutted as she was wont to do when he left his sick bed to change into his staid, black attire. Busy with other patients, she fluttered away to hover over others, and by the time he had returned, Severus was all but alone with the sleeping girl who slayed the Dark Lord. Order members whom suffered greater injuries were nearby since St. Mungo's was overflowing with victims from recent Death Eater raids. And Severus knew that he should be with them and not the girl whose alignment was in question. But curiosity captivated him. He could not leave her side until he learned who she was and why she was in Godric's Hollow last night.

Now, as the powerful witch stood before him, no longer clad in her billowing, tattered cloak, the potion's master could not help but feel a pang of sympathy. It did not show through his natural expression. Instead, he scowled menacingly and glared down at the miniscule creature whose actions made his life agonizing for the past couple months. He wanted to exact revenge for his humiliation, his torture and for Lucius. The blond and his family were not the same as before, and it was HER fault. But, he knew there was gratitude that needed offering for eliminating the dark wizard and attempting to rescue young Harry Potter.

Speaking of whom…why was Hermione concerned about Potter? Did…did she know of the prophecy? Would she be relieved to hear that Dumbledore sent to boy to live with his Aunt and Uncle on Privet Drive? A small snarl of outrage built in Severus' throat. Traitorous scum, Sirius Black, betrayed the Potters and murdered Peter Pettigrew on the same night, along with a slew of muggles. His impending trial and prison sentence kept the murderer from enacting his rights as Godfather and adopting Harry. Although, from what he remembered of Petunia Dursley nee Evans, Potter was not going to end up in the most accepting of homes. Lily's muggle sister would likely let jealous color her judgment in accordance to the boy.

But, that was neither here nor there.

His concerns needed to be focused entirely on the witch gazing at him with a peculiar glint in her eyes.

"I am not staying here."

"You must."

They were mere inches away from each other, staring dangerously.

"Severus Snape, you leave that poor girl alone!" Poppy suddenly interjected. Severus shot her a dark glare to which the mediwitch was long ago immune. She was not the type to cower. Little fazed her. "And you—Hermione is it?—get back in bed immediately. You are in no condition to go anywhere."

Hermione narrowed her eyes, clearly agitated,"Try and stop me."

She made to push by the potions master and he wrapped his hand around her upper arm. Severus was never a bulky man, by any means, despite his best efforts he only manage to tone his scrawny frame. But this girl was tiny! Near a foot shorter than he with a complexion that made his pallor seem healthy, she was in no shape to break away from his iron grip. She stilled for a moment before jerking her elbow around and landing a surprisingly solid blow to his gut.

Severus doubled over but refused to release the struggling witch.

He was unsurprised when she growled a spell under her breath at him and the wandless magic threw him against the wall, his skull cracking loudly against the stone. However, Hermione unbalanced herself and ended up sprawled on the floor, gasping for breath. Merlin! That hurt…but as Severus regained his footing and shook away the fuzziness from his head, he noted that the girl was trembling all over, as if overexerted.

Madam Promfrey huffed with vexation as she waddled over to Hermione and used magic to lift the girl back onto the bed. A few flicks of the same wand later resulted in a strange, opaque-red glow over Hermione's heart. "It's worse than before," she muttered. "Magic depletion is nasty business. Foolish child needs to rest before she puts herself into a coma again or worse, turns herself into a squib."

"And you," she rounded on Severus a mere heartbeat later. "Do not provoke her any further. She may be an impressive witch but she's as weak as a newborn kitten right now."

He arched a single brow. Weak as a kitten his arse. Hermione was dangerous. She needed careful monitoring to make sure she did not escape and cause serious damage.

"Go away! I am sure the others would like to know you are well, even if you are a miserable git."

"Madam, you wound me."

"Oh don't start, Severus. You were a miserable git when you were a first year and you're a miserable git now, simply bigger and more hostile when you feel vulnerable." Poppy poked him in the chest, reminding him of his recently healed over burns. "I know better than to tolerate your temper tantrums or be afraid of your silly glares." Her voice softened,"You always became a vindictive little brat when you realized that you were crying in my arms, professing suffering and sins that would make a saint cringe in horror. Now, the girl is going nowhere under my watch and if anything, you need sleep. Report to Dumbledore, insult Lupin on the way past his bed and gripe about constant vigilance to Alastor when you see his broken arm and bandaged face. Then rest."

With great reluctance, he did just that.

.x.

Quietly, Hermione laid abed, her mind awhirl.

Now that Voldemort no longer posed a threat and the Time Shifter was nowhere in sight, what was she to do? Anxiety bubbled high in her throat. She wanted to laugh and cry at the same time, and all she could do was choke on the influx of emotion. There were so many options. So many unexplored paths. She could achieve so much…she could change the world in its entirety. But did she want to?

No. She did not. All she wanted was to go to sleep and wake up from this nightmare she knew as her life. Or better yet, go to sleep and never rise again.

"I'm no hero," Hermione fought the insane urge to giggle as tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. "I failed Harry. I could not save his parents and give him the life he deserved. So many lost lives. Gods. Why me? Why not let me go?"

Night blanketed the medical ward, only the faint glow of errant moonbeams casting radiance into the sterile gloom. She felt so alone. So lost. Suddenly, she was without further ambition. She no longer desired to change the world. It was as if the Time Shifter no longer held sway over her actions. Perhaps her mind and soul were too broken. Or perhaps, Severus Snape had done more than simply save her life.

A hopeful spark entered Hermione's desolate thoughts.

Despite the life debt, he may have just set her free.

"What now, Hermione?" she asked the shadows. A pang of ache in her chest and the lethargy seated in her bones reminded her of her state of magical exhaustion. Earlier, she was all too eager to leave. Now…she was not quite too sure what her plans were. "There is so much you could achieve…that is, if you are not thrown into Azkaban and driven loony. Or you could just…rest. Find that state of peace you need to heal."

The troubled witch laid a hand over her heart and felt the familiar tattoo beat beneath her palm. After being alive for so long without ever a chance to live, stability and routine was what she needed most. She closed her eyes. Privately, in the sanctuary of dreams, she allowed herself to indulge in the "could be's" and "If only's" that plagued her waking mind. There was nothing wrong with idly visiting the fantasies of her long ago youth, where a powerful, dark-haired potions master and his bookish student had a chance.

She never noticed the grim figure standing sentry nearby, listening to every word, curious to as why the sad girl fell asleep wearing a smile.

**TBC?**

**A/N: (This chapter refused to be written! I swear, transitional scenes are the hardest to write…that, and I've been distracted by a plot bunny for another tale…anywho, please enjoy and review! And, if there is anyone who wishes to discuss and bounce ideas with me about a SSHG fic with a creature twist, please PM me (Hint: Involves dragons, castles, the kidnapping of a certain Princess of Gryffindor, and complete disregard for the Epilogue of DH). Or hey, even this one for that matter. **

**Thank you for reading! )**


	11. Chapter Ten

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing except a laptop and the plot. Characters and world belong to J. K. Rowling.

**Destroyer**

**By Catsitta**

**Chapter ten;;**

Albus Dumbledore was nothing if not a meddling old codger.

Blue eyes sparkling behind half-moon spectacles, withered hands folded before him just so, he gazed upon his youngest staff member with a half-smile and a feeling of satisfaction. The spy played his part and retained the façade of loyal Death Eater even now. With the Malfoy's indeterminately indisposed, what remained of the pureblood terrorists were without a financial foothold in the ministry. True, many of old blood were wealthy, but misers they would become when the galleons ceased to flood into their bank vaults from supporters and blackmail victims alike. Only the Malfoys were so influential and outlandishly fortunate that they could continue to live like royalty for a few more generations yet without worry.

Now all that remained was to purge Voldemort's taint from the political offices.

A plan, of course, formulated quickly.

His eyes slid to the young, comatose witch. Then back again to his trusted spy. He pondered briefly what their relationship was before now. Why was it that the Destroyer who scorned Death Eaters and slayed the Dark Lord, would show unfathomable mercy towards Severus? And why did the boy seem enthralled by her very presence? Hopefully this would not turn into another Lily Evans situation—curiosity turned quickly into obsession for the boy. Severus did not love in halves. He saw something he liked, even minutely, latched onto it and consumed it with a passion. Eccentrics were often men of genius, whose vast capabilities in logic led them down a winding road wrought with odd pleasures and habits of comfort.

Severus Snape was certainly brilliant. He drank in knowledge with eagerness and rarely allowed himself to be anything but the best at what he chose to pursue, be it Potions, Occlumency, the Dark Arts, subterfuge or love. With those pursuits came undeniable quirks.

However, Lily was a devastating failure. He tried to love her as a friend, then as a saint. She spurned his friendship when it became inconvenient and she likely never knew of Severus' attempts to protect her and her family from Voldemort. In a roundabout way, Lily was the reason he became a Death Eater. Yes, his home life was not happy and his choice in friends were poor. But had she taken a chance and nurtured the love he offered instead of yanking it out by the roots, he might not have ventured down that dark path. Severus would have done anything in his power to keep her should Lily shown interest.

The obsession remained even without her reciprocated love. It would always remain, Albus supposed, if nothing was done to intervene. What use would the boy be if he were pining after a woman since passed?

His thoughts whirled. Yes. He most certainly had a plan. One that would put everyone's lives back on track. First things first, however, there were trials to oversee.

.x.

The next week came and went in a blur.

Hermione made no effort to leave her bed more often than necessary, much less attempt an escape. Her magic felt muted and tapping into it was strenuous. Thus she stopped bothering after the first day and took too long naps. Never did she believe a day would come where her mind was not abuzz with the desire for productivity. Even reading seemed too much of a hassle. So she curled up in the scratchy sheets, unbothered by the birds nest her hair became, and slept the day away, waking only to relieve herself and eat a minimal amount of broth.

What she did not expect at the week's end was for Albus Dumbledore, flanked by Minerva McGonagall and a mousy man she did not recognize, to show up at her bedside. Hermione eyed the trio with suspicion as she absently smoothed her ratty tangle of hair.

"Hello Hermione," Dumbledore smiled politely. "This is Deputy Headmistress, Professor Minerva McGonagall, whom teaches Transfiguration here at Hogwarts and Mister Thorne, who is a representative of the Ministry."

"Ministry?" Hermione tensed as she felt the man's scrutiny crawling along her skin.

"Mister Thorne—"

"—I refuse." She threw back the sheet and stood, fully prepared to fight her way out if needed. "I will not go to Azkaban!"

"My dear," the old man's eyes were twinkling just so, "Why ever would a war hero such as yourself be held on trial, much less go to prison?"

"W-war hero?"

"Why yes. Severus' testimony in regards to his experiences in the war effort did quite a fine job in painting you as a hero, dear girl. Mister Thorne here wishes to verify Severus' story through Veritaserum."

"Is he an Auror?" Noting Thorne's nod, Hermione grimaced. She kept her mouth shut when questions about why she was not undergoing a trial. Knowing Dumbledore, he pulled a few strings, and the price she would pay later for his intervention would likely not be to her liking. "Very well. When will the questioning begin?"

"How does…in an hour sound?"

Thorne shifted from foot to foot. This was not how things normally proceeded. Letters were sent, paperwork was filled and all sort of other bureaucratic nonsense needed doing, filing and approving. Something was not quite right here. She narrowed her eyes. Why would Snape's story need verification?

"Suspicious," she informed him. "But I have a feeling I have little choice in the matter."

An hour later found the Destroyer freshly showered, her hair pulled back into a braid and wearing her only set of robes, mended and laundered. Sitting in a small, dark office in the Magical Law Enforcement floor of the Ministry of Magic, Hermione watched as Thorne, alongside none other than Alastor Moody (of all people) approached. Aware of Moody's membership in the Order, she relaxed a hair, but she kept her eyes riveted upon them both, prepared to act at any moment. Wandless and still weary from her magical depletion, she knew that she had little hope of escaping the Ministry should things turn ugly. But after all the hell she survived, no interrogation would break her.

Thorne began the meeting by placing a piece of parchment and a charmed quill on the narrow table between him and Hermione before reciting the standard procedure. He recorded the date, time and names of interrogators, the quill scribbling away as he spoke, then glanced towards Moody. Upon seeing the man gesture a vague sign, Thorne turned his attention back onto Hermione.

"I will now administer three drops of Veritaserum, as approved by the Ministry of Magic and witnessed by Alastor Moody. Do you consent to this?"

"Yes." As if she had a choice. She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. Occlumency would only help some given how the Truth Serum worked. It literally inhibited the area of the brain associated with falsehoods and fantasy, as well as emotion, and tapped into what most would call the unconscious mind. Most recipients of the potion, as of a result, became slack-jawed, expressionless, babbling idiots. Anything that came to mind was said. Lies nor personal "feeling" came into play, only the long, continuous train of dialogue expressed itself. This is why one needed to be talented at interrogation for the serum to be effective; otherwise, the recipient would give basic responses which would prove of little use or relevancy.

With Occlumency, Hermione could quiet the dialogue to avoid spouting off whatever came to mind, and could resist speaking when prompted. In this way, she could refine her answers to a point of vagueness, but the truth would remain and there was still a strong urge to reply when questioned.

Thorne approached and uncorked a tiny bottle of clear liquid. Only its slight, pearlescent shimmer in the faint light queued her to realize something was off. Three drops were placed on her tongue. Sweet. Had someone added sugar of all things to the tasteless potion? Veritaserum often proved a delicate brew few could master. However, no Potion Master worth their salt would add sugar, for it compromised the serum and transformed it into sedative base for many regulated medications used to deal with mental illness and the aftereffects of trauma.

She felt her thoughts muddle with the potion's fog. So tired, Hermione drooped in her seat, eyelids heavy. Drugged and exhausted, the witch could do little more than stare with glassy eyes at Moody and Thorne. She would answer their questions, but as soon as possible, she would be asking a few of her own.

"What is your name?" Thorne began.

"Hermione."

"Ah. What is your FULL name."

"Hermione. My surname is of little import."

Moody scowled from where he stood, apparently attempting to appear menacing. Thorne cleared his throat nervously.

"Right then. Hermione. How old are you?"

"I'm not sure."

"You're not certain of your age?"

"No."

"Do you know Severus Snape?"

"Yes."

"When did you two meet for the first time?"

"First day of class."

"You are his student?"

"No. I have not been a student in years."

"How did you two meet then?"

"Unpleasantly."

"Pardon?"

"We met unpleasantly. A fight you could call it."

"Why did you two fight?"

"He loomed and I retaliated."

"How did this confrontation end?"

"With goodbye."

"So you could say you two were on amicable terms?"

"No. He likely wanted to continue fighting. I simply left."

"Did you two meet again?"

"Yes."

"Where did you two meet again?"

"Malfoy Manor, Hogwarts and Godric's Hollow."

The exchange continued for a good while longer, with Thorne growing more and more frustrated with Hermione's responses. She offered enough truth to evade the core of what was sought. After admitting, to no uncertain terms, that Severus Snape was little more than a witness to her actions rather than an ally in them, Moody at last stepped in. She knew him to be an Order member, but the man was an Auror through and through. He knew the serum was tainted. Thorne, judging by the way he sweat, did as well.

Whether or not this occurrence was happenstance, Hermione did not know. Tampering with Ministry investigations earned years in Azkaban.

"It is obvious what is going on here, Thorne." Moody grumbled. His compatriot swallowed nervously.

"Y-yes indeed. Most obvious."

"Miss…Hermione. You are clearly an _Obliviate_ victim. Sad thing, too. Such a bright girl, your history wiped away by those insidious Death Eaters, like Snape."

Hermione frowned,"Professor Snape is not a Death Eater."

"He wears their mark, missy." Moody prowled closer and placed both hands on the table between them. Something glittered in his eyes—eye, given the patch covering one—it reminded her of Dumbledore in Snape's pensive memories. Dangerous, scheming, a gleam of callous plotting without care for who suffered, as long as the goal was reached. Moody always did make her nervous and Barty Crouch Jr. played his paranoid, bigoted role all too well her fourth year of school. "Severus Snape is one of them. One of the men who hurt you."

"What exactly are y—" she began, only to have her arm grabbed by the auror and her sleeve yanked to the elbow. Hermione tried to pull away, but Moody gripped her like a vice. She fell still and silent when he began to trace the scars marking the inside of her forearm. She felt herself sobering from the potion floating in her system.

"Mudblood," he muttered. "I doubt you carved this little number into your own flesh. You were unconscious for quite a while, missy. I read your health reports while you slept. This isn't the only reminder that scum left, is it?" Hermione met his gaze, unfaltering as she stared back with loathing. What was his point? "Don't defend him and his kind. They are responsible for this word on your arm. The stripes on your back. The scar from collarbone to hip…the mark cut into your thigh."

Hermione jerked away,"How did you know about?" her words faltered. Of course. Poppy. The mediwitch saw plenty of naked bodied and hers was one of them. She likely knew every bump and blemish marring Hermione's skin. "What do my scars have to do with Professor Snape? I am here for a reason and told it had to do with him, but I know someone's lying."

Moody grinned, "I told you. Snape is a Death Eater, one that got off scot free. His type did your wrong, it's obvious. It's why you attacked them to escape."

"Escape?" What was going on? Immediately, Dumbledore came to mind. Was this part of some greater plan to help her avoid trial and imprisonment—if so, why? He could expect no favors from Hermione, even if he planned on blackmail. Living as a chess piece of fate made her wary of such maneuvering.

"Malfoy kidnapped you and kept you prisoner," he informed her. Thorne pointedly found the floor fascinating. Sweat beaded thickly on his brow. "You broke free and confounded the lot who did you wrong when you returned there later, seeking revenge. Hogwarts and Malfoy Manor were the only two places you could remember after being Obliviated, and your reaction to Death Eaters like Snape is understandable. Yet you helped Snape, knowing he's one of their kind."

Was he feeding her a background story in the middle of an interrogation?

"The professor is a good man."

"He claimed you assaulted him when he found you. A reaction expected from a victim. Why would you attack a 'good man' as you call him?"

"I have my reasons."

"Of all the Death Eaters you faced in Malfoy Manor, only Snape left unscathed. He wears their mark. He is no different than You-Know-Who—"

"—Voldemort."

"Pardon?"

"Voldemort. To fear a name is to give it power. Better yet, call him Tom Riddle, that is his name, after all. Voldemort is but a pseudonym to impress the weak of mind and frighten the weak of heart. As for Professor Snape, he may wear the madman's mark, but he does not believe in his cause. At one time, he did. It is the nature of youth to be troubled and easily mislead by the promise of belonging and power. But the man you know, sir, and I so gallantly spared, as you seem to perceive my actions as being, is not the same, angry child who first knelt before a charismatic leader with handsome promises. He serves the Light, as you are well aware, no matter how deeply he once delved in darkness. I know this to be true based on his actions. A servant of the Dark would not have allowed me free reign in his master's destruction. If he wished it, my life could have easily been forfeit and Voldemort at the height of his power.

"Now, I believe the standard hour of questioning is finished. If there is nothing more you have to ask that is relevant to Professor Snape's claims, though I do not understand why anything would be at this point given his acquittal, then I must ask of you my leave."

Hermione at last pulled free of a blank-faced Moody. The Auror stared her down for a few seconds more before smirking nastily. Yes, something was far from right.

"Very well, missy. You may go."

"Thank you."

His soft, dangerous words followed her as she stepped out of the office, Thorne at her elbow.

"Don't be thanking me yet."

**TBC?**

**A/N: (Hn. Pain is not productive to creative processes. Who knew the Kinect could be so cruel? Anywho~ Moody hates Snape. Dumbledore is scheming. The Death Eater trials are in full swing. Sirius is in Azkaban. Harry is with his Aunt and Uncle. And our heroine is caught in the middle, the very place she no longer seeks to be. But a hero's work is never done. Fate has a strange way of motivating its key players into action. After all, in the wake of disaster, new chances are born. **

**Thank you for reading! Your support means quite a lot to me.**

**And for those whom are curious, I'm in the midst of working on the creature fic I mentioned last chapter. Three chapters are done and the fourth in the making. It's thus far named "Bloodlines" and I will likely post it weekly (perhaps bi-weekly) upon its completion. I originally was shooting for ten chapters, around 30,000 words, but it may end up slightly longer than that based off the current projection of the story arc. **

**Until next time! )**


	12. Chapter Eleven

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing except a laptop and the plot. Characters and world belong to J. K. Rowling.

**Destroyer**

**By Catsitta**

**Chapter eleven:**

Fire flickered in the floo, casting warmth into the chilled depths of Severus' dungeon domain. Cramped bookshelves filled every wall, a single stuffed armchair filling the meager space at the room's center. The leather upholstery exhibited signs of wear—a scuff here, a torn seam there…It was a well-used chair. He passed his nights here more often than in his bed it seemed. In one hand, Severus held a tumbler of his favored vice, the bottle of fire whiskey empty and laying abandoned on the floor.

He should be ecstatic. With the war at an end, the Dark Lord dead and a pardon for his involvement with the Death Eaters, he could at last live the life he wanted, free of obligation. Free of spying. Free of anger and hate. But no joy filled his heart. No, he felt empty. Purposeless. It had not hit him until after he left the presence of the Wizengamot, bulbs of reporters flashing upon his exit, that he was without a definite path in life. After a lifetime of seeking power and revenge and a few short months of repentance at the feet of the "greater good", Severus did not know what to do with himself.

Should he continue teaching? The brats felt more like a waste of time and energy than not, and his only reason for taking the post was at the request of both masters. Had he been free to choose, Severus would have steered clear of Hogwarts and pursued independent research…perhaps dabbled in the dark arts a touch more than a teenager should have. But he was older now, wiser and weathered by experiences no youth should endure. His age in number was but a tender amount, but the face reflected in the mirror was that of a much older man. He looked thirty, if one was generous, and felt a hundred.

Severus absently twirled the small glass betwixt his fingers, his brow furrowed with consideration.

What now?

He threw back the shot, savoring the burn. Then he waved his wand at the floo. Privacy was a must for tonight. As slumber began to consume him, his thoughts were filled with the strangest of imaginings. Who was that boy who looked like Potter but wore Lily's beautiful eyes? Why was he staring down at him, begging him to hold on, to not die? Why did he find comfort in that gaze when he should have felt abhorrence?

.x.

Hermione examined her robes with a soft sigh of resignation. The material frayed at the seams and was worn thin in uncomfortable places, too many battles and bouts of Transfiguration left it in near disrepair. If she were a better hand with thread and needle then she could replace the lining and stitch together a new hem. However, sewing did not fall into the category of things Hermione Granger, know-it-all, knew how to do. True, she could darn socks in a pinch and replace a button, but a garment as big as her cloak…no, it was a lost cause in her care.

Pulling the heavy fabric over a plain blouse and knee-length skirt, Hermione left her place in the Hospital Wing with every intention of never looking back. She had no destination in mind, no goals set and not a coin left to her name. The walk would hopefully clear her head. After all, apparition was near impossible for most wizards without a wand, even someone as powerful as she. That left her with her only mode of transport as being foot travel until she either got her hands on a broom or decided to charm an illegal portkey.

Which, she had to admit, she could not do wandlessly with her weakened magical core. It would be weeks before Hermione's energy would be back to normal.

Gliding effortlessly through the night-veiled halls of Hogwarts, the witch found herself casting fond glances at certain portraits and statues as she recalled the mischief her friends managed. With a frown, she tried to remember where the One-Eyed Hag statue laid, for behind it, she knew a tunnel into Hogsmead existed. At least, she believed that was the correct statue…

Her steps came to a pause as memories caused her head to swim.

Harry. Ron. Hermione took in a ragged breath. Harry was with the Dursleys…all because of his mother's blessing and the fact that Sirius went to prison for another man's crimes. She should not interfere further…but what the hell? This was only one of a million possible timelines. If the time shifter truly wanted to end her meddling it would return to do so. It was an ancient artifact. It would exact its price and force her to hold up her unspoken side of the bargain. Hermione did not know how Snape meddled with its manipulation of her, but she believed—feared—it would return.

Gods, she was tired.

Swaying on her feet, the witch found herself lost in many lifetimes worth of fatigue. It would be so easy to quit. To lie down and not a wake up. Just for a moment, she wanted her old life back, with all its losses and failures. Her failures. Misery ensnared her vulnerable heart as Hermione gave in to the weakness of her flesh and collapsed.

Dumbledore found her an hour later, unconscious on the freezing stone floor.

"Child," he murmured, no twinkle in his eyes. "Just a child. What burdens do you carry?" In a sweep of whimsical, star-embellished periwinkle robes, the headmaster gathered the girl into his arms. There, he knelt and with a flick of his wand, he sent his patronus for help. The silvery creature crooned silently as it twisted into the air, colorless plumage adding an elegant air to the ghostly twin of his familiar. A short while later, a bedraggled and none-too-sober looking Severus Snape stumbled into the hallway garbed in his usual attire, though noticeable wrinkled as if having been slept in. Lacking any of his burgeoning power and grace, the potion's master strode to Dumbledore's side in a manner most similar to a drunken spider.

He teetered dangerously when he came to a stop, but otherwise maintained erect.

"Headmaster," Severus, even intoxicated, proved abrupt and sour in disposition. "Whas' she doin' here?"

"A better question is why you are disabled on school grounds?"

The wizard grunted in bitter amusement,"You know why, you mani…manip…you m-meddlsome ol' codger. The war's over an' I got nothin' to live fer…I's just a…t-tool. 'M branded like an animal an' this witch right 'ere is…is…" he struggled for the correct word for a moment before growling ineffectively. "I put up wards t'night so I wouldn't be bothered. I wanted to get pissed and sleep! Merlin…I want sleep. Now look where I am. Standin' 'ere in the dark with YOU and HER!" Severus continued to grumble under his breath like a teenager in a huff.

"Severus. She is unconscious and in a bad way. If nothing else, could you please help me carry her to the hospital wing."

"Yer a wizard. You move her yerself."

"Severus Snape!" Dumbledore snapped, catching the drunken man's full attention. "Use what remains of your facilities to remember the basics of medical wizardry."

The potions master scowled,"It's myth what they say 'bout moving' unconscious wizards with magic. Don't hit her head 'gainst anythin' an' you should be fine. It won' affect her recovery."

"But it could affect her magic. She's suffering magical depletion, in case you have forgotten and extended exposer to another's energy could interfere with the restoration of her own core. "

"Ah…" Severus had the gall to look disinterred. "'m not goin' to be much help. Can hardly stand on m' own two feet." He did, however, kneel shakily and slip an arm beneath the witch's shoulders and with Dumbledore's help, stood with her proper between them. Her head lolled and her trainers dragged the ground, but the pair managed her meager weight with discomforting ease. Twice, Severus stumbled and fell heavily against a wall, bracing his weight against it to avoid collapsing, but he never lost his hold on the young woman in his care.

Strange as it sounded to him, Dumbledore swore he saw sad fondness in the glances Severus cast at their burden. It was only after they reached the hospital wing and lowered the witch into her cot did Severus speak.

"She said she wasn't a hero," he said with only a touch of a slur. "She saved so many lives. She defeated the Dark Lord. Yet she sees herself as a failure." Damp, honest eyes blearily met those of oft twinkling blue. "Same as I yet more. She's dark and dangerous and hides so many things. But light. So light. So good. She doesn't deserve her sadness. Not like I."

"Severus…" The fragile boy he watched grow up into an angry, broken man never spoke freely of his hurts. To hear his anguish spoken aloud with raw emotion, it cut deeply into the headmaster's conscious. "Do not say those kind of things. You a good man. You have done wrong, but you sought to make amends the same as any champion of the Light."

The young wizard shook his head and stumbled towards the exit.

**TBC?**

**A/N: (I know I disappeared for a while, (and this installment is rather pitiful) but I've been busy moving into a new apartment for the start of term.)**


End file.
